Protected
by Peyt4Luke4eva
Summary: AU LP - I've always pictured myself getting to know you and becoming a part of your life. You're the one I've been searching for, you're the one who understands me and now I can't imagine not knowing you, not mattering to you. We belong together.
1. Chapter 1

Re-posted on June 5 2011, with special thanks to my beta-reader mam711 for her work on this chapter.

**Protected**

**Chapter 1 – Cat and Mouse**

_I've always pictured myself getting to know you and becoming a part of your life. You're the one I've been searching for, you're the one who understands me … and now I can't imagine not knowing you, and not mattering to you. We belong together…._

At eight thirty that night, twenty-two year old Peyton Sawyer stood behind the counter of Eddy's Diner. She waited on tables five or six days a week there, and was working a double shift as her fellow waitress Denise had called in sick. She didn't mind too much; the late shift was quiet due to the unseasonal bad weather rustling through North Carolina.

Being that Eddy's was situated on Route 74 just outside of her hometown of Wilmington, most of Peyton's customers were townsfolk and people just passing through. Due to the fact that the highway was treacherous, she'd only waited on a handful of tables since the sun had disappeared from the day.

While the rains poured and battered against the ground outside, she absent-mindedly polished a soda glass with a cloth as she stared up at the TV in the corner above the coffee machine. A cold shiver spread up her spine and her keen, emerald eyes scanned across the evening's headlines.

Another woman had disappeared from her home in Charlotte. She was thirty years old, married and the mother of two children. She hadn't been seen in over a week and had failed to return after a trip to the grocery store. Peyton watched as Sherrie O'Neil's husband made a plea for whoever had his wife to just let her go, that he and his family missed her and that they just wanted her back.

Peyton swallowed hard and silently uttered a prayer for that poor woman. This kind of thing wasn't supposed to happen in the small towns of North Carolina. Sherrie O'Neil was the third young woman to go missing in the state in the last six months.

"Good evening, Peyton."

The friendly, crisp voice of Coach Whitey Durham stirred Peyton from her thoughts.

"Evening, Coach." She wiped down the counter and smiled her biggest smile as her favorite regular pushed in from the wet, cold air and hobbled up to his usual stool.

"Thank you, sweetheart. Oh my, I'm sorry." He blushed as he used an overly-familiar term of endearment with the young twenty-something. He still remembered her as the little girl with the blonde curls from when she was in kindergarten and wore pigtails. He'd known Peyton all her life, and had seen her grow up into a wonderful young woman who looked every bit the picture of her late mother.

"It's fine, darlin'," she drawled back in her thick Southern accent. Peyton grinned broadly at his old-fashioned attitude. Whitey was a true gentleman to her and she found that so charming about him. She set his coffee down in front of him. She'd already added in his cream and sugar, and she threw him a flirty little wink.

The retired sportsman chuckled before he wrapped his hands around the warm, thick cup gratefully.

"What can I get for you tonight?" Peyton pulled out her small notepad and pen from the pocket of her white apron but there really wasn't any need. She'd already scrawled the old coach's order onto the page for the benefit of the kitchen's cook, Sam. Whitey ate there every night and he'd have whatever the special was on that day.

"The usual please, honey. And why don't you buy yourself a drink on me." Whitey had always had a soft spot for the girl who'd led cheers for his basketball team.

Peyton nodded as she stepped over to place the man's order. As she went about her daily routine of filling and refilling the coffee machine, wiping down the tables and serving the steady flow of hungry people, she had come to realize it was the familiar and kind faces that got her through her long shifts. It was her talks with people like Whitey that made the endless hours more bearable.

She was soon setting down Whitey's order of meatloaf. After the last of her other customers, the red-haired woman with her three girls with matching dresses and French braids, left, Peyton nursed her drink of double mint mocha while Whitey ate hungrily. She'd always take the time to talk with the coach. She knew he missed his dinner talks with his late wife and that he frequented the diner for the company more than the food itself.

"It's terrible about those missing girls, ain't it?" Whitey said as the headlines ran across the TV screen again.

"Yeah." She felt the chill on her skin once again. "You don't expect things to happen so close by." The towns were separated by only a couple of hundred miles. It was a little too close for comfort. That thought alone made Peyton a little uneasy. Especially on the late shifts she worked.

"You're being careful at night? Locking all your car doors before you drive on home?"

"You sound like my dad." Her response may have been a little dry but she appreciated the concern. She looped the stray, curly tendrils behind her ear as he reached out his large hand to pat her smaller one.

"How's your dad doing?"

Whitey rarely brought up the subject of Larry Sawyer. Once Peyton had graduated the local high school she'd taken a Business scholarship at UNC. She'd completed three years before she'd had to drop out in her fourth. Her father had suffered a terrible accident while away at sea. He'd been left paralyzed from the waist down. Peyton had paused her education to take care of him, as they couldn't afford a caretaker.

The past year had been hard on both father and daughter. Larry had struggled to come to terms with his paralysis and needing to be more dependent on his daughter. But Peyton had stuck by him. And as he went through his rehabilitation, he slowly came to terms with spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

"He's doing a lot better. His physical therapy's going well so…." Once her family life had settled down and her dad could do more things for himself again, Peyton had taken a job at the diner. She'd been working there for the last six months, saving up to put herself through her final year of college.

"I'm glad, Peyton," Whitey replied earnestly. The girl hadn't ever had it easy, what with the death of her mother at the young age of eight and then her father's accident.

The front entrance to the diner opened with the chiming of the bell. Peyton's eyes moved onto her two newest customers. One she knew as Roy Ferguson, the town's local handy-man, who presently staggered in from the gusty night.

The newcomer was someone Peyton didn't recognize. He was a young man with scruffy blond hair, and he moved carefully past a swaying Roy and headed to the darkest corner of the restaurant.

Roy Ferguson himself slipped down into the nearest booth and shrugged of his raincoat with a splattering of water and a loud grunt.

Peyton exchanged a quick look with Whitey before she moved out from behind the high counter. She could smell the stale scent of alcohol on his breath immediately. He was drunk. He hadn't been doing too well lately. It was no secret about the town that Roy and his wife were going through some marital problems. That Mrs. Ferguson had thrown him out and he was now living alone in a motel.

"Evening, Mr. Ferguson, what can I get for you tonight?" She tried to keep the traces of scrutiny from her tone. She could feel his eyes wandering over her slim frame and she felt her distaste rise.

"What's the sweetest thing you've got on the menu?" Roy slurred while staring unashamedly at her chest.

"Pecan pie," Peyton replied through gritted teeth. She was used to customers hitting on her. She was used to some of them ogling her and making suggestive remarks. She didn't like it but she'd come to accept it was part of the job.

"What about you, Peaches? You on the menu?" The balding man's hand reached out to touch the fabric of the uniform at her hip before he allowed it to graze her behind.

Peyton's frame stiffened immediately. She'd come to accept that the looks and the comments came with the job. She needed the money to support herself and her father, and she'd flirt for larger tips. She wasn't always proud of it. But she did what she did to keep her job. But she did draw the line at physical contact. Especially when Roy was the father of one of her close friends back in school.

She felt a scowl of annoyance work its way quickly across her face. An angry retort tingled its way to the tip of her tongue and she shrugged his hand away.

"Now why don't you show the young lady some respect?" Whitey stood up from his place at the counter. He limped forward with the aid of his walking stick. He may have been older and frailer than Peyton remembered him being back in her cheerleading days, but he still carried himself like someone who should be respected and feared.

"Sorry, Coach," Roy muttered under his breath and he immediately backed down. His eyes had fallen from Whitey's rigid stare to his own gray sweater.

"It's not me you need to be apologizing to," Whitey retorted.

"I'm sorry, Peyt."

"Good, now sit down and order your pie. And have some coffee to sober yourself up. Then she can get on with her job."

At the coach's stern instruction, the man sat down and muttered that he'd take a slice of the pecan pie.

After that uncomfortable display Peyton ventured to her newest arrival. He sat with his head bowed over as he scribbled in the book in front of him. He seemed completely engrossed in whatever he was writing. However, as he heard the sound of her sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor he looked up and closed his book shut.

He had bright blue eyes and floppy blond hair that he parted in the middle. He looked to be around Peyton's age. He was around six feet tall with broad shoulders and an athletic build. He smiled warmly at her.

"Welcome to Eddy's, what can I get for you tonight?" She recited the usual greeting but she smiled back.

"Oh, I'm sorry." His hand reached for the menu. "I haven't even looked. I'll take a cup of black coffee and a slice of pecan pie."

"Coming right up."

She moved back over to the coffee machine to pour the drink and cut off his slice of dessert. She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand and looked to the clock. She was relieved that she had little over an hour left until she could lock up and go home.

"Well, I guess I'll be off," Whitey announced. He gathered up his coat and with a firm grasp of his walking stick he pulled himself back to his feet. "You going to be all right?"

"Yeah, I think he's calming down now." Both sets of eyes wandered to the direction of Roy. He sat, head bowed over his cup of coffee. He looked more sober and mournful now.

Whitey's hand pushed the money to settle his bill across the counter. He'd always tip her extra and Peyton had learned not to refuse even though she knew he now lived on a fixed income.

"You be careful now," he warned her.

"I always am," she said lightly. She watched as Whitey shuffled out of the restaurant and left the bell jingling behind him.

She then moved back over to the blond man with his coffee and pie. She set them down in front of him as he cradled his pen between his fingers.

"So are you new in town or just passing through?" she asked politely.

"I might be staying a while. It seems like a fairly-nice town."

Peyton smiled and nodded. "Well, I hope you enjoy your stay." She turned on her heel to begin the closing down and restocking of the diner. She knew if she started the cleanup now she could be finished earlier, and her body was exhausted from working her third double straight. Her mind was focused on a long soak in her bathtub and reading the last couple of chapters of _Dandelion_ _Wine_.

"Peyton Sawyer?"

Hearing him speak her name, she turned back around to face him.

"Yeah?" She felt her brow furrow as she gazed at him.

"Sorry." His face flushed with embarrassment and he pointed at her name badge. "I saw your name was Peyton and that this painting was done by Peyton Sawyer. It's really beautiful."

Peyton's green eyes moved up to the picture she'd done last year in college. A Pre-Raphaelites module she had taken had inspired her. The picture was of a girl sleeping in the fields but she had given the work a more modern edge. Her boss had allowed her to sell some of her paintings at work to go towards her college fund. "Yeah, I painted that."

"It's beautiful, really wonderful. The bright colors, the lines and the brush strokes." He spoke passionately and enthusiastically about the painting framed up above his booth. "It's amazing."

"Thank you." Peyton couldn't help the pride that swirled in her stomach.

"It's so beautiful and so innocent." His very blue eyes traveled to the painting and back to her. "I love how it's influenced by the Pre-Raphaelites."

"Have you studied art?" It wasn't often that Peyton met anyone in the café with such a knowledge and enthusiasm for what she loved.

"Oh no." He rubbed the back of his neck before he placed his hands over his leather-bound book still sitting on the table close beside him. "I just dabble and draw whatever I feel like."

"Really? Can I see?" she asked enthusiastically at the budding artist. She yearned for those times from school where she could appreciate other people's gifts and trade ideas and inspiration. She barely spent any time now drawing and she realized how much she really did miss it all.

"Well…" He toyed with the corner of the book. "I'm sure they wouldn't be good enough. Not like your work. I'd be too embarrassed."

Peyton remembered how shy and secretive she'd been about her own work and she didn't push him. "Well, if you ever change your mind…." She made the offer lightly before she motioned to his coffee mug. "Would you like a refill?"

* * *

After a final hour of cleaning up with just the blond newcomer for company, Peyton finally clocked off for the night. After the young man disappeared into the night she made her way to the ladies' room to change out of her mint green uniform. She rid her skin of the coarse material for her usual clothes of choice: her ripped and faded jeans, and band tee. She finished off her look by drawing her leather jacket over her shoulders and zipped it.

She switched off the lights and moved through the now dim restaurant. Her feet throbbed from her double shift and her eyes stung with her need to sleep. She locked up the doors and walked the couple of hundred feet to her beloved Comet.

It had finally stopped raining outside and the gravel stirred and crunched beneath her sneakers, and Peyton unlocked the driver's side.

She sucked in a breath when she saw the faded red car and the figure bent over the engine. With the missing girls and all of her over-protective father's warnings, Peyton was a little unsure of whether to approach him or not.

In high school, and indeed throughout her life, she'd been the smart and sensible girl. But she was also the nice girl and the dependable girl. It wasn't in her nature to simply walk away if someone might be in need of help.

She moved up to the parking lot and her fingers curled around the pepper spray she always kept in the depths of her pocket.

"Is everything okay?" She approached the owner of the Mustang cautiously.

The blond-haired man lifted his head up from under the hood to answer her. It was the guy from the booth that had talked to her all night and Peyton felt slightly more at ease.

"My car won't start." He muttered his explanation with a small hint of frustration in his voice. "Just my luck that the rental agency gives me the dud, right."

Peyton curled her tousled locks behind her ear. "There's a garage about a mile down the road but it's closed until tomorrow."

"Again, just my luck," he chuckled in his reply. "I guess I'll just call Triple A and wait. Do you have a phone I can use?"

"Sure." Peyton pulled out her cell from her jeans pocket. She paced the still-damp concrete as he made his call. The night air was growing chillier as the clouds pulled away to reveal the twinkling stars, and that long, hot bath was even more appealing to the weary girl.

She huddled deeper inside her jacket and leaned at the side of his car. Her eyes looked onto his scarlet-bound leather book as it sat on the passenger seat. The inside of his car was messy but the book remained in perfect condition. She smiled, thinking back to the days of her cluttered, teenaged room. Her sketch books and her art supplies were the only things she didn't have to search for as they always had their place.

"They're sending someone out." The blond man handed back the phone. "Thank you. You should get on home."

Peyton nodded. She knew how much her father worried about her, especially at the moment with the missing girls. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine. You've been a big help." He smiled and waved off her dubious expression. "Really, I'll be fine."

Peyton nodded. "Okay, I guess this is good night then." She trudged a few steps over the gravel before she turned back. "Hey, can I at least know your name?"

"Ian."

She flashed a smile at him. "Well, good night, Ian." She walked back to her car and drove off.

He watched as her vintage black car disappeared out of sight. His heart was beating so fast after being in the presence of the girl who didn't even know who he was. He sank back down into the driver's seat, as his weak knees wouldn't hold him.

He reached out for his little red book and opened it to his marked page, Peyton Sawyer.

_You're just how I imagined you'd be. Beautiful just like in your pictures. And smart and sweet. I liked the way you wore your hair tonight, up in that messy bun style with all those wild curls framing your face._

_I was so nervous about meeting you, Peyton. You're so special. We belong together._


	2. Chapter 2

Re-posted on June 5 2011, with special thanks to my beta-reader mam711 for her work on this chapter.

**Protected**

**Chapter 2 – Blink of an Eye**

_We have nothing to fear, but fear itself. Evil flourishes within darkness. Unseen and ominous, it lurks amongst the shadows. The uncertainty of it sparks fear in the innocent soul. Once unmasked and brought into the light it no longer seems as terrifying. _

Criminal Profiler Lucas Scott stared out of the rain-stained window as they drove from the police station and into the windy, residential streets of Charlotte, North Carolina. The twenty-nine year old FBI agent had been flown in from his offices in Los Angeles to offer specialist advice and aid in the capture of the man they believed may be responsible for the kidnapping and possible murders of three local women.

Just four hours earlier the local police had received a tip that a man matching the description of their suspect was staying at the Mermaid Motel located in downtown Charlotte. The motel's owner had let a room to a man he described as nice enough but a little strange. Apparently he was staying at the motel while his car was in the shop. The owner reported that the guest would come and go at all hours.

This was the biggest lead Lucas had received since he'd begun investigating the case of the missing girls.

Just over half a year ago, the first woman had gone missing. Josie Turner was a third-year medical student from the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. From her file, Lucas knew that Josie had made several complaints that someone was trailing her after her shifts at the local hospital. When Josie failed to return home from a late-night hospital stint, her roommate has notified the police and the search began.

Lucas had been staying in the area at the time, while he was conducting a series of profiling seminars in Chapel Hill. He had met local Police Detective Mitch Cassidy during one of his lectures. The two men had become fast friends. Over a late afternoon coffee Lucas had agreed to take a look further into the case. Something about this stalker's behavior had pulled Lucas's interest to the case.

Then when a second woman, Alex Stevens, a drama student from UNC, called the station and reported that a strange man was stalking her, the police stepped up. This was only days after Josie's disappearance and they sent a squad car to pick her up.

But it was too late, Lucas thought sadly. He was reminded that once again his job meant he was chasing those monsters that lurked in the night.

The aspiring actress disappeared from the bustling sidewalk of Franklin Street as soon as she had made the call. She'd been taken in the middle of Franklin Street, in amongst the crowds of college students and yet no one had seen her, or indeed _him_.

Lucas watched the intermittent flickering of the glaring, gold streetlamps as he passed through the quiet neighborhood. He tilted his head up toward the canopy of old hardwoods. The stately trees were exquisite and so unlike the pines he had become accustomed to. Their thick, winding branches made Lucas imagine arms reaching out into the blackened night skies. Reaching out, like a thief in the night.

Their man was calm, patient and cunning. He always seemed to be one step ahead.

_He_ blended in, Lucas knew that much. He had guessed that the man they were looking for was in his twenties or thirties himself. He looked non-threatening; he may have approached these girls and gained their trust before snatching them away from their lives.

A thick cough escaped from Detective Mitch Cassidy's throat, as he navigated them along the bleak roads, and brought Lucas's attentions back into the squad car. The men traded a look and the officer pulled into the motel's parking lot. Lucas focused all of his energies on why they were here.

Lucas climbed out of the police cruiser and onto the wet streets. The heavy spring rains cascaded down onto his brow and he sprinted from the car and to the motel. He could feel his heart thrumming against his rib cage, as both nerves and adrenaline sparked through his body. He knew he was sweating profusely in spite of the freezing, lashing winds.

The young agent reached the shelter of the derelict building; with the older detective following close behind. Once under cover from the storm Lucas quickly pulled off his glasses and cleared them of the watery droplets obscuring his vision.

The tension and anticipation pumped through him. He wanted this man caught; he wanted to lock away another monster from the street.

He cast his eyes at Mitch and the detective nodded his head; he was ready. They were ready to get the bad guy.

The two men moved quietly to the motel's reception area, while the rest of the officers waited to make the arrest. All were alert, with their guns ready. They were here to capture and bring in their suspect.

The perpetrator had slipped up. He had made a mistake and he'd allowed them to track him down. The bad guys always did eventually; Lucas knew that from his years of service. And now he and the team of police officials swarmed up the concrete steps and into the heart of the structure.

The motel owner supplied them with a key and led the way to the man's room. He'd checked in under the name of Mr. Black, the proprietor told Lucas. The owner unlocked the door to room 42. Lucas felt his hands wrap tightly around the base of his gun, every muscle and tendon of his body was poised and ready as he and the team now moved inside.

The suite was small and dark. Take-out containers and wrappers were littered across the worn couch and the coffee table. All the curtains were drawn in every room and all this stalker's secrets remained hidden in the darkened shadows.

_He wasn't there_. The room was empty.

The quick search around the small space soon concluded that their man was long gone. He'd taken his clothes and whatever possessions he had along with him. He hadn't bothered with checking out of the motel.

"He was in a hurry," Lucas muttered to himself more than anyone else. He hoped idly that they may have a chance of getting some fingerprints considering how hastily he'd left.

"Detective, you should take a look at this." A junior officer handed a piece of paper into Detective Cassidy's hand. The old man's graying brow furrowed and he gave the note to Lucas.

_You're too late._

The message was written on fancy notepaper. The lettering was printed so neatly. Even though he'd rushed to make it out of the building, he had still taken time and great care over writing to them.

Lucas let a loud sigh pass from his lips and into the air. The suspect had upped his game. And apparently he was now toying with them.

He was still out there. And so were the missing girls.

* * *

Peyton blinked her tired lashes as she turned off the ignition. Slowly she climbed out of the Comet and made her way across the soaked driveway. And once again the lights of her colonial home were glowing. As she turned her key in the lock, she knew her father would still be waiting for her to come home from her shift. She smiled idly; he did the same every night.

She shed her leather jacket and dropped her bag by the stairs before she wearily traipsed into the den. Sure enough she found her dad in front of the blaring TV, sound asleep. She moved closer to the armchair, carefully stepping over the German Shepherd who was curled across the rug at Larry Sawyer's feet.

Her dog, Dusky, had been a gift from her ex-boyfriend and also her Art History professor back at UNC.

Her on-again, off-again relationship with Greg Matthews had never been easy. He was brilliant and a ladies' man; she was independent and headstrong. He had loved her, but just not enough to be in a long-distance relationship with her. When she'd had to come home to take care of her dad, Greg had simply _let_ her go. She missed him sometimes but she knew he'd already moved on to another girl.

"Hey, Daddy," she whispered as she bent over and lightly shook her father's shoulder.

Larry stirred awake with a low grumble but he smiled when he came to. "Hi, sweetheart. What time is it?"

"Late," she said matter-of-factly before she pressed a kiss to his unshaven cheek. "You know, you really don't have to wait up."

Larry worried about her; she knew that all too well. For so long it had just been just her and her father against the world.

He stifled a yawn. "I can't go to bed until I know you're home safe," he grumbled. He pulled himself up to sit a little straighter in the plush seat. His eyes wandered over her small frame, the fatherly concern evident in his gaze. "Have you eaten?"

"I had something at the diner," Peyton offered half-heartedly. She'd grab a bite whenever she could but she knew she neglected to eat enough and regularly.

Not satisfied with her answer, Larry ruffled his already-wrinkled brow. "I could fix you something?"

She smiled back but shook her head. "I think I'm just going to go to bed."

"You're getting too thin," Larry chastised. She was so like her mother, Larry thought idly. She did everything she could for him and she was working hard to go back to school. She looked after everyone else and sometimes forgot to take care of herself.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "So, how did your doctor's appointment go?" She'd wanted to be there, she normally took a day off for her father's appointments, but she'd been called in to cover for Denise's sickness.

"Same as always, honey; tiring and painful." He couldn't keep the bleakness from his voice. Larry Sawyer's days now consisted of sitting in front of the TV, attending doctor's appointments and doing endless exercises. It was a lonely existence and he hated feeling so helpless and dependent on his daughter.

He watched as his little girl's eyes clouded over with doubt. She always tried to be positive, though back in her teen-aged years optimism really wasn't in her nature. She'd had to be strong, but every so often, as he let his condition bring him down, he could see it getting to her. "But the doctor says as long as I keep up with the exercises I'll get better. I'm doing a lot better, honey."

Peyton nodded as Dusky now nuzzled at her ankles. As she bent to stroke the black and gold fur she said, "Well, I'm off tomorrow so how about I cook dinner and we can watch ESPN?"

"Cheese pizza?" he suggested and grinned broadly at their little family tradition. Peyton smirked back at him with a little bob of her gold curls. He was glad he could still make her laugh and forget every once in a while.

"Sounds good. You should get some sleep." Peyton suggested as the late night news channel reeled its headlines once again. She pulled up his wheelchair next to him, flicking on the brakes.

They'd converted the old dining room into a downstairs bedroom after the accident so he could move from one room to the other easily by himself. But she still preferred to know he was settled for the night before she went up to bed herself.

"I guess so," he mumbled in reply.

She watched as he pulled the chair closer to himself. He used his arms as leverage to move from the cushions and onto the hard seat. His breathing quickly became labored from the exertion and all Peyton wanted to do was aid him. But she didn't; Larry was proud and stubborn.

Months ago, as Larry had begun his recuperation, she'd always intervened. It had frustrated her father and the doctors had advised her not to do. For Larry to become strong again all she should do was observe the struggle and try not to act on her instinct to help.

Finally with a low sigh he flicked off the brakes and gave her a wan smile. "Good night, sweetheart," he huffed.

With a little smile, Peyton bent to press a good night kiss to Larry's cheek. "I love you, Daddy."

"Sweet dreams, kiddo," Larry said before wheeling off down the hall.

Peyton crept up the stairs with Dusky now stalking close behind her. She stifled a deep yawn as she pushed into her red bedroom.

She was too tired for that hot bath she'd been promising her weary body, and instead she brushed her teeth and washed the makeup from her face. She then pulled on an over-sized shirt and slipped out of her weathered jeans.

Once she'd sunk beneath the red sheets and set her paperback aside, Peyton clicked off her bedside lamp. She was asleep within just a few moments with Dusky lying at the bottom of the covers.

* * *

He watched her now.

He'd trailed her to her home. The idyllic red-brick building, tucked away in the quaint little street of picket-fenced houses. He'd even smiled as she'd kissed her wheelchair-bound father goodnight. His sweet, dependable Peyton lay wrapped up in her peaceful dream world.

He watched her for hours, well, he'd watched her for months but he hadn't been this close before. As she lay with her blonde ringlets framing her delicate face, he wanted to believe that he could love her. He wanted to believe that he could love this one.

She had no idea she was being watched.

* * *

With the police's raid coming up empty, the officers had left the scene. But knowing that all that awaited him was a cool and quiet hotel room, Lucas had opted to stay and scan over the scene once again.

He'd waved off Mitch's invitation of an after-hours beer. The detective had responded by stationing Casey Weaver and her partner outside in a patrol car. Casey was a flame-red-haired police woman who'd always flirted with Lucas from the moment she'd met him.

"I'm just outside if you need anything," Casey said with a smile.

Lucas nodded politely in response. Given his lean, muscular 6-foot frame, sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes he'd always received a certain amount of female attention. But he'd never really enjoyed it. He'd excelled throughout his school career and had been handpicked by the FBI during his first year of college. He worked a lot of hours and his life had become dedicated to hunting down the bad guys. Dating and indulging in a personal life didn't really fit in with the demands of his job.

"I think I got it," he muttered.

Lucas moved around the small living space now that all the police personnel had gone back to the station or home to their families and loved ones.

The way he worked to track down the bad guys was different. As a profiler he worked to piece the clues that a criminal may leave behind at the scene of a crime. He was trained to use any evidence he might find to try and piece together who the bad guy might be. How he or she might work and think. In building up a psychological profile of the killer and gaining a better understanding of the person behind the mask as it were, it would also help enable the police to catch him.

He slapped on the white plastic gloves before he scoured through the living area but came across nothing. Aside from a couple of couches and a coffee table there wasn't anything to search so he paced through into the next room.

The drapes in the small kitchen area weren't completely closed. Lucas could see the rough and ragged shadows of the trees cast across the bare walls as they rustled against the high winds. He flicked on the light switch quickly. He didn't scare easily, not anymore. Not with all that he'd seen and heard, but being alone and stalking through a suspect's last known location made him feel slightly uneasy.

He moved across the tiled floor and pulled each and every drawer and cupboard open. They were all empty; no food had been left behind, and Lucas guessed that the man had survived on take-out orders during his stay.

He found an empty bottle of blond hair dye in the trash. As he pulled it from the can and tossed it into a clear plastic evidence bag, Lucas knew that their suspect was most likely trying to alter his appearance to evade capture.

He then pulled open the final drawer and his eyes caught sight of the sole object hidden within the space. Tucked away was a large worn scrapbook. It was definitely well-used as the spine was split and fixed together with sticky-tape. Lucas pulled it up into his hands and sucked in a breath for what he might find inside those tattered covers.

The pages were filled with photographs and daily entries, just like he'd used it as a journal. He'd scribbled in random observations of all three of the missing women and he'd attached pictures he'd taken off them without their knowledge. He even had class schedules for both Josie and Alex, and the daily activities of housewife Sherrie O'Neil. This book linked him to the disappearances of all three women.

With his knees slightly weak with disgust, Lucas sank down on the wooden seat at the plastic breakfast table. He'd watched these girls for weeks. He'd trailed them, learning their every move. He had been hunting them. The thought sounded darkly in Lucas's mind as he turned the pages of the scrapbook. He'd watched them; he'd studied each detail of their lives.

Lucas turned to the last page and his blood ran cold. He realized there was now a possible fourth victim; his heart sank. He hadn't seen her before. She was blonde, approximately twenty years old, with green eyes and possibly the stalker's next target.

This was bad.

Immediately he jolted back up onto his feet. He moved from the motel room and into the squad car. Casey attempted a flirtatious smile but jumped into the driver's seat once she sensed his alarm. He was headed back to the station as he flicked open his cell phone. He stared down at the photograph while listening to the phone ringing at the other end as he waited for Mitch to answer.

Lucas guessed the picture had been taken of her over what looked like a web cam. She was staring unblinkingly at the computer screen. She had a blue and white sports banner across the wall behind her.

He studied the heart-shaped face of the girl with the shining, sad eyes. He never got emotionally attached on cases anymore. He couldn't afford to, not with the horrors and the evils he'd seen but something about the "Raven's" girl struck him hard.

Ravens. It was a clue. A way of finding her.

"There's a fourth," he stated darkly once Mitch answered from the other end of the line.

_This was really bad. _Mitch's moment of silence only confirmed that thought.

"I'll meet you at the station," the detective said after a beat.

Lucas's mind was already spinning on into action as he left the motel room back in its darkness once again. They needed to find this girl first, before _their man_.

* * *

Peyton spent her day off the way she always did. She slept in late with Dusky lazing beside. She lay beneath the crimson covers as she finished reading her book while the morning's sun spilled brightly into her room and she continuously stroked the dog's warm, soft fur. She set her now-finished copy of _Dandelion Wine_ on top of her growing collection of books before she showered and ate blueberry pancakes for breakfast.

She left the house after noon as she'd always go for a long walk in the afternoon. She liked the quiet of the wooded area. Her German Shepherd would run on in front of her as they trekked along at the river's churning side. She'd sometimes bring along her sketch pad and sit and draw for hours at a time.

Once deep in the quiet forest she settled onto a large, fallen oak tree branch at the water's edge. She propped the paper on her knee as she drafted the jagged outline of the broken branch. She hummed softly as she drew her gray lines, blending her marks expertly with her fingertips.

The cracking of a stick penetrated the silence and Peyton turned quickly. She pulled herself up onto her feet and felt her heart's beating pace quicken. She was still a little jumpy with those girls being missing. Dusky's keen brown eyes soon became focused upon the man dressed in white shirt, shorts and sandals who approached them.

It was Ian, Peyton thought immediately as she recognized the blond-haired man. She immediately fastened the lead on her dog's collar. The German Shepherd had been mistreated by her previous owners and she'd been rescued as a puppy; Greg had brought her home from the pound. She was mild mannered mostly now but still a little uneasy around new people.

However as Ian made it closer to them, Dusky barked and strained harder against her owner's hold.

"Whoa!" Ian back off as the dog growled. The canine tensed up on her paws with sharp teeth bared.

"No! Dusky, no!" Peyton protested as she pulled back on the leash.

Ian took a few steps back as the dog continued to warn him off despite Peyton's efforts.

"Shh," she uttered soothingly while she wound the lead tightly around her hand. "Calm down, girl." Peyton crouched down and stroked the velvety fur across Dusky's brow as she attempted to comfort the alarmed dog. Dusky slowly sat back on her haunches, enjoying the gentle touch.

Peyton smiled apologetically toward Ian. "I'm sorry. She's harmless, really. She's just not good with strangers."

"I'll take your word for it." Ian attempted the light quip as he continued to stare down at the pet with caution. The animal may have been placated by her beloved mistress but those dark eyes remained dangerous and focused on him.

"She's just shy around people she doesn't know." Peyton stood back to her feet and folded her arms around her slim frame. "So what are you doing here?"

The river was an attraction for the tourists, it always had been, but Peyton had found the wild spots where newcomers would prefer not to venture.

"I was just out taking a walk," he explained. "My car's going to be in the shop for a few days so I'm stuck just looking at the scenery."

She nodded. "Well just be careful, the ground can be a little dangerous."

Ian grinned. "Thanks for the tip. I suppose that's why you're out here?"

Peyton gave a little shrug. "I like it here, it's quiet and peaceful."

"Somewhere nice to come and draw?" He pointed to her discarded sketch pad still sitting on the old branch.

"Yeah. It's nice to just be alone with my thoughts, I guess."

"It's a beautiful spot." He cast his eyes to the sparkling surface of the river; all he could hear was the gentle splash of water and the native birds' song. "Definitely different from where I'm from."

Peyton agreed, "very different from busy city life."

"Yeah, it is. So listen, how about I take you out for that coffee?" Ian asked. "I might even find the courage to show you my sketches."

"Maybe another time?" she said gently. She didn't want to be rude. Peyton preferred to spend her days off without going over to the diner where she spent so much of her time right now, or having anything to do with anyone or anything that made her think of work. It refreshed her and it made her feel like she'd had a break.

"Come on," Ian flashed his smile as he attempted to entice her. "My treat. I'll even buy you dinner to say thank you for letting me use your phone."

"Rain check?" She'd planned on that family evening of pizza and giggling with her dad.

"Why not, don't you like me?"

"I'm just kinda beat." She attempted to remain polite but she didn't like that he wouldn't get the hint. "I'd be bad company."

"Fine. Suit yourself," he snapped back at her.

She could see that flash of irritation in his very crystal eyes. She frowned as he didn't bother to hide his annoyance. Another bark penetrated the tense air.

"I should go." Peyton moved to gather up her sketch pad and shoved it quickly into her bag. Dusky's returning low growls only confirmed that she had a reason to feel unsettled. She hurried away from him.

Ian bit his tongue as he watched Peyton retreat along with her irritatingly-protective animal. She'd disappointed him now; she'd been so lovely while she'd brought him pie and offered him her phone. But she'd obviously done those things just because of her job.

He clenched his fists. She looked like an angel but she was teasing him.

She was a tease, Ian thought angrily. Unapproachable and a tease. But he'd make her his.


	3. Chapter 3

Re-posted on June 5 2011, with special thanks to my beta-reader mam711 for her work on this chapter.

**Protected**

**Chapter 3 – Ticking Clock**

It was well past midnight once Lucas returned to the station. He marched into the middle of the haphazard office space. Desks and filing cabinets were placed wherever there was a place for them; they didn't appear to be in any kind of order. He blinked against the fluorescent lights, sucking in a deep breath of stuffy air. He could never have worked with this.

Lucas was too used to the Bureau's structured, open-plan offices; he was accustomed to clean, well-ventilated and organized. He couldn't have worked in an environment like this one. He liked and thrived upon discipline, and not disarray.

He wove his way through abandoned tables and chairs. He made his way over to Mitch's cubicle that was tucked away in the corner.

"Good evening." Mitch greeted him with tired and bleary eyes.

Lucas smiled at the two take-out cups sitting on top of the senior detective's littered desk. After over twenty years of service Mitch could no longer stand the thick and bitter substance the station served up as coffee. The two men had first bonded over their preoccupation with criminology and a mutual love of Italian roast.

"Sorry to get you out of bed, old man," Lucas quipped.

"I'm lucky I have a very understanding wife," Mitch said with a wan smile and pushed Lucas's double espresso towards him. "Tina got us these, if we're going be up all night."

"Tina's a good woman." Lucas grinned and pulled up a chair opposite the officer. He took a long sip of the dark, tart liquid while his eyes wandered to the family photo Mitch kept on his bookshelf.

The graying man stood beaming, with his arms around his auburn-haired wife and his two little girls. They were the exact image of their mother. Lucas had never met Tina or Mitch's two daughters, but they seemed like the perfect family.

Both men were married to their work; Mitch, with his wife of fifteen years and his two daughters, struggled to find balance between his obligations; while Lucas was the rising star at the Bureau, with his family distant and living in Virginia.

"So what have we got?" the older man asked while stirring sugar into his cappuccino.

"I found this in his kitchen." Lucas stretched his hand over the desk and Mitch took the creased book from his grasp.

Mitch thumbed through the book, glancing over the pages. The most intricate details of the women the police were now searching for were noted in the scrapbook. "He watched these women for months," the family man commented.

"He watched them. He studied them. He found out what they liked. He knew their schedules. He planned everything to the smallest detail." Lucas's mind traveled back to the way he'd managed to pick Alex Stevens from busy Franklin Street without causing any disruption or raising alarm.

"After twenty years…." Mitch's eyes passed again over the worn book. They'd all seen way too many crazed, evil people in their time and yet it still sent shivers up the man's spine. Once again they were reminded that for every creep and bad guy they might put away, there were another dozen waiting in the shadows to take their place.

"This was with his book," Lucas pushed the photograph of the latest target in Mitch's direction.

"Oh dear lord." Mitch voiced the shock and dread that their abductor may have an intended fourth victim. "And there's nothing in that book to tell us who she is?"

"No, her picture was placed at the back of the book on its own," Lucas offered with a shake of his head. "I faxed over a copy for Nancy to look her up and see if she's in the system."

Nancy was the station's administrator and Lucas had wasted no time in getting her to send out the girl's picture for identification. Time was not on their side; they needed to find the girl quickly.

Mitch bobbed his head in agreement while Casey Weaver sauntered back into the office and immediately over to the men.

"The credit card the suspect used to pay for the motel room was reported as stolen yesterday," the female officer explained. The Mermaid Motel owner had supplied the police with all the details he'd attained when their man first checked into the motel. "Nancy's still waiting to hear back about the car."

"Okay, thank you, Casey."

"Do you need me for anything else, sir?" She addressed Mitch but her gaze was fixed onto Lucas.

"Go see if Nancy…." the detective began and Casey's eyes fell down to the image that held the attention and concern of her boss.

"She's a Raven." The woman cut him off with the piece of information and Lucas exchanged a quick, puzzled look with Mitch from across the desk.

"What?" Mitch asked.

Casey shook her head in mild irritation before she explained, "Cheerleader. The Ravens are cheerleaders. Those are the colors for Wilmington High School. Your girl's a cheerleader."

The gray-haired detective continued to stare at his junior officer. "You're sure?"

"Wilmington, North Carolina?" Lucas inquired.

"Yeah, I went there. Graduated back in '01." Her focus was back onto Lucas. "But I was never a cheerleader. I was more of an individual."

Lucas chose to ignore Casey's flirtatious look. "Do you recognize her?"

The woman's gaze fell back down to the photograph and she studied hard for a moment. "No."

"Okay, have Nancy fax a copy straight to the Wilmington police. See if they can ID her," Mitch instructed.

"Sure thing, boss." Casey took the picture from Mitch's hand and threw a lingering smile in Lucas's direction.

Lucas relaxed a little in the hardwood chair. This was good; they needed to find this girl and they needed to find her fast.

"She likes you," Mitch commented as Casey strolled away and Lucas took a sip of the acidic beverage.

"Casey?" Lucas already knew what the detective was getting at. Both worked on the job, they dedicated everything they had to it and they knew the price. Mitch, however, believed firmly that you could have both if you worked at it. He believed Lucas needed a life and he was probably right.

"You could do a lot worse."

"She's not my type. I prefer a little mystery."

"You'd think you'd have had enough of puzzles on the job," Mitch replied with a dry chuckle.

* * *

Peyton slowly opened her heavy eyelids. Her alarm clock buzzed, stirring her from a deep and peaceful sleep. She groaned, her arm fumbled blindly to shut off the unwelcome noise, and she narrowed her eyes against the harsh assault of the morning's gold rays.

She moaned lowly and buried her face into her pillow. She had just over an hour before her shift began and wished she could just stay in bed. She was already dozing back to sleep when the phone rang. She sat up with irritation. She hoped that her boss wasn't calling her in to help with the delivery.

She murmured a grainy "hello" into the handset as she rubbed at her bleary eyes.

"Morning, Pey. Did I wake you?" Greg's voice sounded over the line. Her ex-boyfriend knew that she was not an early riser.

Peyton felt a warm rush as she heard his familiar tone and the nickname he'd given her. She'd hated him shortening her name but now that single syllable had her smiling.

"Greg? Hi," she replied in total surprise. She hadn't expected him to call her. She caught herself smoothing down her bed-tousled curls. "How are you? It's been awhile."

"I'm good. How about you?"

"I'm fine. My dad's doing a lot better and the doctors are happy with his progress. Dusky's good, she's had all her shots now."

"That's good, Pey…." His voice trailed off uncertainly. She knew enough from their time together that he wanted to say something but didn't necessarily know how to begin.

"What's going on, Greg?" He hadn't called her to just catch up, and as much as it disappointed her to admit, she wasn't shocked. It had been hard enough for her to capture his full attention when they were together, let alone now when they were towns apart.

Greg took a brief pause and a long drag of breath over the line and Peyton frowned. Whatever he wanted to tell her was something he needed to prepare himself for.

After a shallow breath he spoke, "I'm getting married, Peyton."

"Married?"

She echoed his announcement. Greg had never been the marrying kind; her father and her friends had disapproved of their relationship because there was no future in it. He was the professor and the bachelor; he loved a good time and a different girl whenever he pleased. To hear that he was getting married and wanting to settle down stunned her. And it hurt her pride more than she was comfortable with.

"Are you okay?" He knew her well enough to know her silence meant that she was anything other than okay.

"Congratulations," she replied weakly to his question.

"I know it's sudden. I didn't see it coming myself but I'm happy," Greg continued on as Peyton could offer only a word in response to his news. "She's a wonderful woman."

Peyton felt the swell of stung self-worth in the depths of her stomach. She didn't want to know any of the details.

"I'm happy for you." She attempted to sound convincing, though she really just wanted to end the conversation. "Listen, I got to go."

She stroked Dusky's gold speckled fur long after she'd hung up the phone. She wiped the stray tears away with the back of her hand and her dog nuzzled against her arm.

She hated herself for feeling like this. She was over Greg; their relationship wouldn't have worked out. His colleagues and wealthy friends had never approved of him dating his student. No one had supported them being together and they were at such different stages in their lives.

She sat up straighter, trying to compose herself before a glance at her clock radio told her she was running late. She flipped off the comforter and dashed for a quick shower. Afterwards she slipped into her horrid uniform that made her feel even less attractive than she already did.

"Morning, Daddy." She rushed into the kitchen. She found her father sitting at their little pine breakfast table, nursing a cup of coffee and pawing over the morning paper just like he did every day. She pecked a kiss to his cheek before moving to the cupboards.

"Good morning," Larry lifted his head to watch his daughter tip food into Dusky's bowl hastily. She filled up the drinking bowl with water, setting that down next to the already eating German Shepherd. He crinkled his brow; Peyton's moves were jerky and her face was flushed. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"I'm just late," she attempted a little smile as she straightened up to her full height. "I'll walk her when I get back tonight."

"No, I can do it," Larry said, already wheeling his chair from under the table. "You want me to make you something?"

"I'm fine." She grabbed a banana, along with her keys, in hopes of appeasing her father. She pressed another kiss to her dad's unshaven cheek before rushing toward the door.

"Drive safely," Larry called after the rapidly-departing blonde.

"Love you," came her reply before the front door slammed shut.

* * *

Peyton drove to the diner with Greg's words still spinning in a loop within her head. He was getting married, he was happy. She should be happy for him and she guessed she was. She'd loved him and wanted him to have a good life. He was a good guy and deserved that much. She hated that she was a little sad and more than a little jealous.

She pulled the Comet up into her usual spot in the parking lot, right in front of the staff door. She turned off the ignition and stole a glance at the rear-view mirror and her slightly-puffy eyes. She raised her fingertips to her face and sighed. Some days were just hard for her and this was one of them.

"Peyton." Once she got out of the car she heard someone call her name. She turned her head in that direction only to see the newcomer, Ian, moving towards her.

"Peyton," Ian called her name again and quickened his pace.

"Oh, hey." She slung her bag over her shoulder and offered a weak smile once he'd reached her.

"Can I talk to you?" Ian asked while extending an offering he'd brought for her; an orange takeout cup from The Coffee Shop located in the mall. "It's your favorite, double mint mocha."

Peyton frowned as she took the cup from him. He didn't know her well enough to know what her beverage of choice was, though right now she didn't have the time to worry or to care about that. One of the waitresses had called in sick again and she needed to get inside. She glanced in the direction of the diner. She was already running late and she knew her boss would be mad at her already. "I've really got to get inside."

"I just wanted to apologize …" Ian took a step forward as he persisted. "… for yesterday."

"Really, don't worry about it." Peyton just shook off the apology. The last thing she was thinking about right now was Ian. "I really have to go."

She moved past him, and sped away. She made it into the diner and was thankful that only Whitey Durham was sitting at the counter. She murmured a quick hello to the tired-looking cook, Sam, who was about as happy that it was just him and Peyton alone for the long shift as Peyton was herself.

"Morning, Coach," she said hurriedly, moving past the man bent over a breakfast of bacon and eggs. She tossed her bag and leather jacket into the tiny staff area and tried to avoid the accusing stare of her boss. She clocked herself in, straightened the collar of her hideous lime uniform and was ready for another endless shift.

"Is everything okay, honey?" Whitey asked once she'd returned to her usual spot behind the counter, adjusting the apron around her waist.

"Yeah," she gave a quick nod, tying her blonde curls into a messy ponytail.

"Are you sure?" He didn't want to pry but the young woman looked a little flustered.

"I'm fine." She picked up the ragged cloth and quickly wiped down the spotless counter just for something to do. She knew she couldn't fool the man who'd known her practically since birth.

"Who's he?" Whitey's gaze traveled outside. Ian was already back in his red car but he remained sitting in the parking lot.

"I don't know." Peyton's glance followed Whitey's outside and offered a shake of her curls. "He's just some guy from out of town."

Whitey continued to stare at the man inside the Mustang. From all his life experience he'd learned to trust his impressions of people and something about that person made him feel uneasy. "You be careful."

"Yeah," she nodded in agreement and tossed the drink Ian had bought her into the trash. His persistence and his following her around were beginning to unsettle her.

"Is he what's bothering you, honey?"

"Not really. Just men," Peyton retorted. "You don't make it easy..."

Whitey chuckled lightly at her statement and Peyton smiled apologetically. The last she wanted to do was take her frustrations out on the one regular who always brightened up her long shifts.

"I'm sorry. Bad start to my day..." She straightened the apron before she went to retrieve the coffee pot. "Refill?"

The old coach gave a bob of his head. Peyton poured the thick, dark liquid into a chipped porcelain mug.

"Is it your father?" Whitey probed when the sadness shone through her attractive features.

She only shook her head and she met the wise blue eyes of the old coach. "Ex-boyfriend, he's getting married."

"Oh. You want my advice?" the old man offered while stirring his hot beverage. Peyton nodded, despite the fact that she was the kind of girl who'd never taken other people's opinions too easily. "Don't think about it, because it's his loss."

Peyton bit her lower lip as her tears threatened to spill. Whitey offered her a gentle smile and patted her hand in that caring, wise way he always did.

"He's not worth it, honey."

"I know," she uttered in agreement. She bowed her head to let her curls fall to shield her eyes.

"You're too young and far too pretty to let any man get you this upset." He craned his head to meet her gaze. "If I was twenty again…." he jested and she smiled her first real smile of the day.

"Thank you." Peyton brought her hand up to dab at her eyes.

"Camilla always said that love finds you, you don't find love."

Peyton nodded gently as Whitey uttered the words of wisdom of his late wife. From both of their visits to the graveyard at that same time every single year; she knew he missed his Camilla as much as she missed her mother.

"There's someone out there for you, Peyton. He'll find you."

* * *

Once the police had discovered that the girl they were looking for lived in Wilmington, North Carolina, it had been a lot easier to track her down.

A fax to the Wilmington police finally confirmed that the person they were searching for was Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer, the daughter of a former dredging boat captain. She still lived in the quaint residential area of her hometown.

Given the urgency of the matter, the local police department had said they would contact Peyton Sawyer to warn her and bring her to the station. Several messages had been left at her home but she had failed to answer. Mitch had uttered a few choice complaints about budgets cuts when they hadn't sent an officer over to the girl's home.

After the three-and-a-half-hour car ride from Charlotte, and still no answer from Peyton Sawyer, Lucas and Mitch had opted to drive straight to her home address.

By ten o'clock that night their squad car reached Timer Street, and Mitch pulled up in front of the colonial-style house.

Lucas and Mitch slammed the car doors shut before walking up to the quaint property. With its glowing, amber lights and the German Shepherd curled up on the front porch, it reminded Lucas of his own home. It was safe and sweet, and supposedly tucked away from all the badness in the world.

They moved from the quiet little street, covered by a canopy of large, hardwood trees and onto the porch of the dimly-lit home. The dog rose curiously from her haunches and Mitch stiffened. Lucas threw him a quizzical look and the detective shrugged feebly. He didn't like dogs, he explained.

Lucas threw him a small grin before crouching down to stroke the soft, fluffy coat of the animal. "She's harmless," he reported to the older man who rang the doorbell.

The door clicked open to reveal an unshaven man in a wheelchair. The local police had filled the men in on the former sailor's accident. The Sawyers seemed to be the talk of the town, what with the father struggling to get his old life back and his girl back home from college.

"Mr. Larry Sawyer?" Mitch was the first to speak as Larry stared up at them with watery eyes.

"Yes," the man slurred in reply.

He was drunk, Lucas could smell the stale odor of beer and scotch. The wheelchair-bound man looked up at both of them. His unfocused gaze drifted from them and onto the carpet beneath him, in order to avoid Lucas's critical look.

Lucas didn't doubt that the tragic event had shattered the captain's life but he couldn't help the angered judgment he felt. Alcoholism destroyed families and ripped them apart. Larry's head hung in shame the way his own father's had done many a time and Lucas couldn't afford to feel any sympathy towards him.

Mitch offered the FBI agent a look of chastisement; they weren't here to condemn this man. They were there to help his daughter.

"We're sorry to disturb you so late," the detective spoke into the quiet hall.

"No, not at all." The man's dull eyes traveled back up to look between the two of them curiously.

"Mr. Sawyer, I'm Detective Mitch Cassidy from the Charlotte Police Department," Mitch continued. "This is FBI Special Agent Lucas Scott."

"Charlotte? FBI?" Larry's voice echoed with obvious alarm. He, like everyone else in the state, followed the news. People talked in fearful whispers about the wife who'd disappeared from the nearby town. And about the two Chapel Hill students who'd met the same terrible fate. He didn't want a visit like this one. He didn't like where this was going.

"We need to talk to your daughter," Lucas began. "Is she here?"

"Peyton? What does this have to do with Peyton?" The alarm in the father's voice was evident. All effects of the alcohol seemed to disappear immediately to be replaced by concern for his girl's welfare.

"Has Peyton mentioned anything unusual?" Lucas ventured. "Maybe that someone's been following her? Bothering her?"

"No, nothing like that," Larry shook his head. Each day he'd told Peyton to be careful and felt powerless that he couldn't do more to protect her with a crazed stalker on the loose. "Peyton's a good girl, Detective."

The father's eyes traveled towards Lucas. Lucas had seen that sad, desperate look too many times and he hated it. Larry Sawyer couldn't believe anyone would want to hurt his little girl and Lucas now felt terrible for him.

"Where's your daughter now?" Mitch asked.

"She's working over at Eddy's Diner. It's on Route 74." His eyes clouded over with concern. "Her shift's almost over."

"Is she working with anyone tonight?" Lucas piped in.

"No," Larry shook his head regretfully. "The other waitresses have been calling in sick a lot. No one wants to work the late shifts with that man on the loose."

"We should send a car?" Lucas suggested. Peyton being alone made her an easy target if the kidnapper was already watching her.

"I can call her," Larry volunteered quickly. "Let her know to wait for you."

Lucas nodded in answer to the suggestion and watched the man wheel over to the antique table with the phone sitting on top of it.

Larry held the phone to his ear with a shaking hand; it merely rang and rang. Peyton always answered quickly. He just knew that something was very wrong. He felt it in the pit of his stomach. Bile rose up in his throat when she did pick up.

"DADDY! HELP ME!"

Lucas heard the shrill voice from the other end of the line. He watched Larry's hand drop the phone and he rushed over to lift up the receiver. He listened for a beat as the screams became fainter and then the phone line went dead.

"Mitch, we've got to go," Lucas said urgently and the worried father only nodded.

This creep had her and they needed to act fast. Mitch was already radioing a request for all units to get over to Eddy's Diner. He and Lucas were out the door and on their way.

* * *

"Good night, come again." Peyton recited the recycled script wearily as ten pm struck and she could finally flip the 'closed' sign over at the door.

The words passed her lips and she smiled; her remaining two female customers settled the bill and exited to Eddy's parking lot. She hoped idly that she'd sounded convincing enough. She certainly didn't feel it as she closed the glass doors shut and dimmed the restaurant's lights. She picked up the money left by her last customers. She frowned at the mere pittance of a tip the two women had left her. She gathered up the empty coffee mugs and gave the table a quick wipe with the cloth before she moved back around to the counter.

Peyton's tired eyes glanced up at the TV news station at the ten o'clock headlines and she knew she'd be late home again tonight. She pulled the filter from the coffee machine and tipped the dark, soggy grinds into the trashcan.

With a heavy sigh she slid the filter back into its place before switching off the machine and cleaning down the coffee-splattered surfaces. Her feet and legs ached painfully. All she wanted to do now was to go home and sleep.

She moved to get the mop from the cleaning closet and her heart leapt as the men's room door opened.

"Ian?" Her hand was flat against her chest as though she was attempting to calm the rapid beat within her. She saw it was him and the initial alarm she'd felt didn't settle. He worried her. He kept showing up. And now he was hiding in the bathroom until she closed and locked up for the night.

"Hello, Peyton." He offered a lingering smirk.

"What are you doing here? We're closed."

He didn't respond to her statement. He chose to ignore her. He moved further into the restaurant area. Each step he took seemed to thunder against the tiled floor.

"Ian?" Her voice echoed in her ears; it was hollow and unsure. Something about him was different. His eyes seemed to darken with menace and he didn't speak another word.

She didn't like that coolness in his expression; even though he was still smiling he looked unkind. He was glowering at her. And it unsettled her. It frightened her.

She noticed he was wearing black leather gloves and was clutching at a graying rag. She didn't like this one bit.

"You shouldn't be here." She uttered the statement while she moved from behind the counter. She turned to the staff exit. Her hand traveled into the pocket of her lime-green uniform where she'd taken to keeping her car keys. She gripped the keys tightly into her fist. Every instinct told her to just get far away from this man.

He chuckled from deep within his throat. He stalked toward her in predatory motions. He was purposeful and swift. He cut off her escape.

"Where'd you think you're going, huh?" Quick as lightening, he grabbed her by the arm, twisting it painfully. He pulled her roughly and possessively to him.

"You're hurting me." Her voice was shrill and pleading; she could barely believe this was happening. He was scaring her. She'd liked him.

"You don't like me, do you? You tease me and then you reject me."

_No_. Her irritation replaced her fear in a split second. She'd never led him on. This wasn't her fault. She hadn't done this. He'd come after her.

"Girls like you are all the same." His fingers tangled into her curls, he breathed in the scent of her. "Unapproachable, teases."

Her stomach churned as his lips grazed against her throat. He disgusted her.

The unexpected ringing of the diner's phone sent Ian's gaze to the wall where it was mounted. He hadn't planned for that; one hand slackened on her now-bruised wrist. That was her opportunity.

Her hand gripped around the keys in her pocket; her own fingers wrapped tightly around the cool, metal objects. Her mind wandered to the pepper spray stashed away in her locker. But she was resourceful and would have to make do. She counted to ten in her head before she acted.

She jabbed her car keys into the soft flesh of his neck with as much strength as she could muster. He let out a grunt of pain; one of his hands let go of her wrist and went up to his throat. She managed to break away from him as he remained shocked and disoriented.

She made for the phone and wrenched it up from its cradle; she recognized her home number glowing back at her on the tiny screen.

She screamed into the receiver, "DADDY! HELP ME!"

"You bitch," Ian growled. She dropped the phone with a hard clunk. He was composed once again and he lunged.

He ripped the phone from the wall before he chased her and tackled her to the cold floor. He used all his weight to pin her down.

"That wasn't very nice, Peyton." He pried her keys, the weapon she'd used to hurt him, from her tightly-clenched fingers. He sent them clattering across the hard flooring.

"Let go," she shrieked, trying to break from his grasp. She twisted and kicked wildly. He was unbelievably strong; his hold was suffocating. But she was willful and wily, and as soon as she felt his grip slacken just a little from his exertion, she curled and thrashed from his clutches.

She scrambled up from the tiles; her eyes darted around the room in search of her keys. She couldn't see them. She just needed to get out of there. Help would come now she'd alerted her father. She just needed to hold on for a while longer. She tipped over chairs and made for the exit again.

Her heart was hammering so hard in her chest she thought it might just give out. She reached the door but he caught her; terror welled up within her throat.

He practically wrenched her off her feet as he dragged her back into the depths of the dining area. His cold hands curled around her forearms. They were vise-like as he pinned her to the wall. She could feel his hot, heavy breaths against her face.

"Let go of me!" She wouldn't give in to his imposing grip. She balled her fist and connected with his left eye.

He rocked back against her strike. She was hurt, she was beyond tired, and it was now only her pure hatred of him that was spurring her on. She chanced a second hit. It wasn't as powerful, but it landed on the same spot and he grunted in pain.

"You stupid girl," he roared at her. He slammed her hard up against the wall.

Peyton stopped struggling as her head smacked against the wall. Spots of black peppered her vision and a feeble sob escaped her lips.

Her body sagged into him now; she could feel the warm tears of shock coursing down her cheeks. Her skull throbbed painfully. She could feel herself fighting against unconsciousness. Strangely she was almost glad of it; she could at least block out this living nightmare.

"Shh, don't cry, baby, I'm here now."

Waves of nausea passed through her from the blow to her head. But she knew some of the sickness she felt was from him stroking back her hair and his soft voice. He was talking as if they belonged together.

"You know what I really love about that painting?"

His words penetrated the cold, tense air between them. They caught her off guard. She felt her brow knit together in confusion. For a second she had no idea what he was talking about. Her eyes followed his icy gaze towards the painting hanging over the corner booth.

"Look at me!" His hand cupped her face roughly, forcing her to meet his glance once again.

"You know what I really love about the Pre-Raphaelites? My favorite artist was called John Everett Millais. He painted a picture of Shakespeare's Ophelia from the play Hamlet. And in the picture, Ophelia drowned in a lake. Do you know of it?"

Peyton felt a tear trail down her cheek and she nodded mutely in answer to his question. She knew the painting. She knew the painting and didn't like the evil intent looming in his bright eyes.

"There was something so beautiful, so wonderful in that painting. She was so peaceful in her death. She was so beautiful. There was so much romance in her death."

His large gloved hand pressed the dirty rag over her mouth. She inhaled the sickly sweet fumes and her vision began to blur. Her panic echoed and dimmed inside her head before her frame slumped into his grasp. Her lashes fluttered shut, her body giving in to the chemicals.

Ian felt every single ounce of strength leave her body, before he lifted the unconscious girl from her feet. He carried her quickly to the staff exit and out of the diner. He rushed to his red Mustang that he'd parked around the back of the building. He couldn't afford to be seen now. Not now that he had her.

The excitement pumped through him as he bundled his beautiful conquest into the back of his car. He worked the ropes tightly around her wrists and ankles. He took the precaution just in case she woke up.

He could hear the distant sound of police sirens as he pulled out of the parking lot. He grinned at his own reflection in the rear-view mirror. He'd escaped again.

She'd tried to warn them, and now they were coming to catch him. But he was always one step ahead.

* * *

_We're too late_...

The parking lot was ablaze with red and blue flashes from the squad cars. Officers rushed towards the family restaurant and swarmed the immediate area surrounding it. Mitch pulled their car to a halt in front of Eddy's Diner.

The lights were glowing dimly from inside the empty dining spot. There was no sign of the waitress. Lucas could see the chaos within the building, and adrenaline and nausea pumped through him.

Lucas followed Mitch to the little diner. The front door was locked; she'd been in the process of closing up. And he'd struck out when she was alone, Lucas thought grimly.

He cradled his gun tightly, waiting while the SWAT team searched around the back of the building, securing the area in case their man and the waitress were still there, somewhere within the location.

The SWAT captain soon unlocked the entrance to allow Lucas and the police access.

The profiler walked carefully amongst the overturned furniture. He could tell by a glance at the over-turned chairs and the smashed sugar containers that she'd fought hard.

The toe of his shoe brushed against something soft and he stared down. Dread consumed him. He picked up the dirty ragged cloth from the tiles. He could smell the pungent sweetness of chloroform and he dropped the rag into a plastic evidence bag.

She's gone, he realized sadly. She'd fought hard to bide her time. They were just too late to help her.

He heard Mitch request for squad units to canvass the roads in search of the stalker and the missing waitress.

"There's no sign of them. They're gone," Mitch confirmed as he crossed the room over to Lucas.

Their search had come back empty. Yellow police tape was already being stretched outside; the building was now a crime scene. Lab technicians were setting up to dust for any prints their man may have left behind.

"He drugged her," Lucas lifted the poly bag for Mitch to see before handing it off to a member of their analysis team.

"I'll need to tell her father," Mitch said regretfully. It wasn't a task he relished; telling a parent he may have lost his child forever was the detective's own biggest fear.

"No, I can do it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Lucas felt like he almost owed the father of the girl that he should have saved. He'd been trained not to get involved personally with his cases; it made it easier when they took a turn for the worse.

He felt responsible for the girl with the wide, green eyes. He had ever since he'd found her picture at the back of that book.

In his years with the Bureau he'd never liked to lose out to the bad guys. This stalker had been pulling the strings since he'd begun working on the case for the missing women. The kidnapper had always been one step ahead until they'd found the picture of the Raven's girl. He was supposed to have reached her before it was too late; he was supposed to have helped her.

"Agent Scott," Mitch's serious tone caught his attentions before he exited. "This isn't your fault."

Lucas took a bated breath and held back his response. His eyes fluttered away from Mitch's glance and he bent to retrieve the shiny metal object from under the corner booth. His fingers wrapped around the set of worn bronze keys complete with the Ravens blue and white key fob.

"Tell that to Peyton Sawyer."

* * *

Peyton slowly forced her eyes open and stared into the blackness of a room. Her head throbbed painfully from its resting place on the crumpled pillow. She blinked her lashes several times, gradually becoming used to the darkness.

She wasn't sure where she was. The room was small and almost empty. She could make out the bed she was lying on, the little table in the middle of the room. The only light was supplied by a tiny window and a sliver of moonlight.

She sat up with a groan, reaching her hands up to cradle her aching, bruised head. Her throat was dry and scratchy; her body hurt all over from the struggle.

_Ian_.

She remembered Ian and she shivered involuntarily. She brought her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly. He'd attacked her and drugged her; the images from the diner flashed into her mind. He'd brought her here, wherever here was. She didn't dare begin to imagine what he might want with her now.

The door to the dim room cracked open, only to be flooded with the bright lights. She narrowed her eyes against the bright intrusion; she could make out his silhouette now.

Ian stood in the doorway, blocking her only way of escaping.

"There she is," he drawled.

She could see his large, puffy eye. She felt some satisfaction that she'd hurt him a little too.

"You should drink this." He pushed a bottle of water into her dim cell. Even though her wrists were bound together, he held back from her. He was maybe a little wary of her now.

"Please let me go. I won't tell anyone, I promise. Just please let me go."

The only words out of her mouth came as a surprise to her; she was pleading with this man. All she wanted to do was go home.

"No, Peyton." He shook his head in response. "You're mine now."

"You can't do this," she raised her voice. She started to cry out for help; she called out with every ounce of strength that he hadn't managed to take from her. She'd yell and she'd scream and alert someone to her presence.

"Shut up!" Ian moved to her then. He loomed over her.

He looked crazy and cruel and she immediately fell silent for fear of what he'd do.

"Don't think I won't kill you." His words and that glint in his eyes were beyond dangerous, they were evil. "You scream, you try to escape, I'll make you regret it."

He didn't say anything else. He slammed the door shut and she heard him turning the locks. The hot tears she'd been holding in since the attack spilled down her cheeks as the room returned back into its bleak state. She sobbed fitfully into the ruffled pillow.

She cried out her tears. She found herself staring at the silver moon shining outside. She remembered how she'd been so afraid of the dark when she was little, and her mother was still alive. Her parents had managed to coax her into sleeping in her own room by telling her that the man in the moon would keep her safe. It had worked on her then, when she was barely four and it seemed to be working now.

She wiped her damp cheeks stubbornly; she couldn't just sit here and cry. She was stronger than this. She'd been brought up capable, she was smart and canny. She just needed to figure a way out.

Peyton stood up on her weak, shaking legs and stumbled over to retrieve the water. She popped open the cap with her teeth before taking a large gulp of the cool liquid. It trickled down, calming her raw throat. She drank the lot with just a couple more sips before she moved back to sit on her lumpy bed.

She sat for a long time; staring into the blank, ominous room. She forced her troubled mind to only one goal, escape.


	4. Chapter 4

Re-posted on June 5 2011, with special thanks to my beta-reader mam711 for her work on this chapter.

**Protected**

**Chapter 4 – Hide and Seek**

"Come on, Kevin, let's pick up the pace."

Kevin Keegan, a thirty-one year old lawyer, trailed several hundred yards behind his newlywed wife. He clutched his side as he continued to pant heavily. Despite the pretty glimmer of sunlight, and the gentle splash of the river, he failed to appreciate the tranquility of the day. He'd much rather be in bed this early in the morning, but he pushed himself forward along the grassy terrain.

"Come on, honey," Lorraine Keegan shouted back once again.

Every morning as the sun rose up into the skies, Lorraine would have him out of their new home and running alongside the Cape Fear River. Their forty minute circuit took them out of their town of Fayetteville, North Carolina and to the state's more picturesque scenery. Kevin, who'd grown up in downtown New York, would have probably enjoyed it more if he hadn't had to carry on at such a pace.

But that was the penalty of marrying a fitness instructor, and that's what he always told himself. Before Lorraine he'd been quite content sitting in front of a games console with a beer. He'd changed for the woman he loved; he ate right and he exercised regularly. He was healthier for it, but sometimes he wished she wasn't quite so stern with him.

"Almost half way," his wife yelled back over her shoulder while she sprinted on.

"I'm coming," he murmured, wiping his sweaty brow.

He turned the corner to the little spot he loved best. A large tree skimmed to the water's surface and shielded him from view. Lorraine didn't know it, but the small area provided him with a moment to catch his breath.

Kevin bent forward, placing his hands on his knees, and he took several greedy gulps of air. He chuckled idly; no one had ever made the slightly-overweight businessman work so hard.

His laughter died on his lips. The river's current sloshed up against the murky bank and his eyes took in the pale limbs. His brow furrowed at the sight of black hair tangled amongst the twigs.

"Kevin! Kevin, what are you doing?"

Kevin didn't look up or speak as his wife made it to his side. He only stared at the body floating in the Cape Fear River. It was a woman. He didn't know who; she lay face down in the water.

"Oh my God." Lorraine's voice was shrill, her hands came to rest on her husband's arm and her knees went weak.

With a fumbling hand, Kevin dug into the pocket of his sweaty sports top to retrieve his phone. He'd followed the news of the missing girls in their state for months now. He tried not to think that he may have just discovered the body of one of them.

* * *

Wilmington was frozen and shocked by the disappearance of Peyton Sawyer. The once-safe urban area was plunged into an unfamiliar uncertainty. For the first few days, people remained mostly in front of their TVs. Shopkeepers and locals would offer their sympathies for the young waitress. Parents put their children and teenagers under tighter curfews so they returned quickly home after school.

Eddy's Diner had remained closed. The owner stopped his business, partly as a mark of respect, and also so that the police and forensics could canvass the area. The building had been cordoned off by yellow tape while evidence was gathered.

Once again there wasn't anything to be found. Their man was smart and effective. He'd worn gloves and hadn't left them any clues. Much to the dismay of Lucas, the CCTV cameras had captured nothing of the attack. Eddy's did have cameras scattered strategically about the restaurant but they didn't work. They'd been tampered with; wires to the back of the monitors, in the office, had been cut. The stalker had managed to get into the building and wreck the equipment.

The outlook didn't look good for Peyton Sawyer. No one had seen this kidnapper. He'd struck again and disappeared like a creature of the night.

However the detectives did receive some invaluable information from one source. The retired coach of the Ravens had made his way to the police station first thing in the morning following the disappearance of the local girl.

Brian Durham had limped into the interview room. He'd insisted that Lucas and Mitch call him 'Whitey'. He'd seemed deeply affected that Peyton had been taken; he spoke of her as if she was a granddaughter. Lucas was reminded once again that this poor girl was loved and he hadn't been able to help her in time.

The old coach had stated that Peyton had been bothered by a customer and newcomer to the town. He'd told them that the man had loitered in the parking lot and watched her. He described a man with blond hair. This was consistent with the bottle of hair dye found at the motel room back in Charlotte.

Whitey reported that the man had approached her and seemed annoyed when Peyton hadn't been interested. He told Lucas and Mitch that he wished he had reported this earlier and confessed the man just didn't seem quite right.

Eddy's reopened four days after Peyton had gone missing. It had opened and the town's people flocked slowly back. With the yellow tape and police barriers removed, men and women sat over coffee and silently prayed for the unfortunate waitress.

Lucas kept in regular contact with Larry Sawyer. Larry was, of course, the person affected the most by his daughter's abduction. He'd done everything he could to aid the police's search and had made a plea to the nation. The teary-eyed father stood in front of the press and officials, asking for help and hoped that someone would hold a piece of information that would bring Peyton home.

The father seemed so desperate and so broken. Lucas tried to stop by each day to check on the older man. He wouldn't usually; it went above his call of duty, and it was something he hadn't ever done in his years of service with the FBI.

It was hard to stand in the Sawyers' family room and be surrounded by Peyton's life. It was difficult to look at Peyton smiling in childhood pictures and not feel like he'd let her down. But he went every day regardless; he visited because he knew the father was alone and fretting.

Larry's disability also meant that he needed regular care. He'd assured Lucas that he was getting regular visits from the next-door neighbor, whom he jokingly dubbed the noisy old girl with nothing better to do. But Lucas still came to check on the man's physical and emotional state.

On the fifth day, Lucas pulled up next to the sidewalk on Timber Street after his long hours at the station. He sat in the car, listening to the rains battering the roof of his rental car. He stared up at the stormy skies. Beside him were his files, the newly-revised profile he'd written up on the crazed stalker. Tomorrow he'd go on camera to describe the man they were looking for in the hopes that someone, somewhere would come forward with a snippet of information.

He let a sigh pass his lips and it filtered into the chilly air. He climbed out of the car and walked to the house. If he was honest, there was another reason he came to the red-bricked colonial home with the sad-eyed German Shepherd curled up on the front porch. He visited, and stroked the dog's black and gold brow, because he cared. He would sit up late into the night, nursing tea and talking with Larry, because it eased the nagging guilt he felt whenever he was alone in his motel room.

He should have been able to help her.

When he'd first started out at the Bureau, as the innocent and wide-eyed rookie, his superiors all reported what held him back was that he got too attached. That compassion had been harnessed within him; of course he still cared for the unfortunate victims of the monsters he hunted, but he'd slowly learned to control his emotions.

Until now, it seemed.

Mitch reminded him repeatedly that all this was not his fault. They'd acted when they could and had done everything possible to get to Eddy's in time. It was true, and Lucas knew that. Mulling things over and over in his mind wouldn't change anything.

Lucas rapped once on the wooden door and it creaked open seconds later. Larry offered a smile but it never reached his bloodshot eyes. He beckoned the agent in and wheeled away with heavy, hunched shoulders.

Lucas and Dusky stepped in from the cold and followed Larry into the dimly-lit den. The couches and coffee table were littered with newspapers and clippings from the past four days. The rest of the space was covered in care packages and wilting flowers.

"Everyone wants to stop by and show their support," Larry grumbled. He flicked the brakes of his chair once he was settled next to the phone. He'd experienced this too many times and he hated it. It had been this way when Anna had passed away. His neighbors would come armed with a casserole dish and sigh sadly at his then-eight-year-old daughter who sat drawing in the corner. It had been the same way after his accident. His only comfort in the hard times was his baby girl.

Larry whipped up the TV remote and muted the local North Carolina channel. He'd had enough of no news and hushed speculation.

Lucas busied himself pouring tea from the pot for each of them. He added the two sugars and milk that Larry liked. He crossed over the rug and carefully stepped over the dog that lay in front of the crackling fire Mr. Sawyer's neighbor had started for him. He glanced at the troubled man. The shadows beneath his eyes seemed larger and darker. He hadn't bothered to change his clothes from the night before, the FBI agent noted.

"How you holding up?" he asked gently while setting the cup and saucer down onto the small table. Lucas moved back to the worn red couch and sank down into it before Larry answered.

"Honestly? I think I'm going crazy," Larry cradled the beverage in his hands and stared into its steaming contents. "I keep thinking I can hear the back door open in the middle of the night. That she's sneaking in from one of her dates."

Lucas offered a wan smile.

"I just feel so helpless," Larry muttered. "Just waiting around, and I don't even know what I'm waiting for."

For now all the worried father could do was wait. He didn't know that Peyton would be alive and well if they found her. None of the women before had been found. No one knew what this madman was capable of. Despite the assurances from Lucas and the rest of the detectives, no one could guarantee his daughter's safety. It was a terrible, terrible thought and it kept him awake each and every night.

Lucas only nodded at the statement but tried to reassure him. "You have to stay strong. She'd want you to be strong."

That much Larry knew to be true. When Anna had passed away, and Peyton was only eight, she'd bring him a cup of tea just like her own mother had done. She'd be dressed for school and she'd sit on the edge of the bed. She'd wait and watch him until he sat up and drank it. He'd chastise her for carrying the hot beverage up the stairs but she did the same every day. She hadn't really understood grief enough but she'd been the one constant that kept him going when he just wanted to give up.

"Do you have family, Lucas?" Larry broached the question idly; the memory was etched in his mind and it made him smile for the first time that day.

Lucas nodded. "I do."

The young agent's eyes remained fixed upon his own cup of warm liquid. Larry could only imagine the hours this man must put into his job. It probably meant that family was pushed aside. "You're not close with them?" he asked tentatively.

"It's just complicated," Lucas replied.

"It always is with family."

Lucas nodded but didn't say anything further. The men fell silent for several moments.

Lucas stared into the flames as they crackled in the fireplace. The touchy subject of a broken family, and a father who never wanted him, was one that angered and saddened him. He tried not to think about it; he tried to be a good man. He tried to help people like the Sawyers; he tried to protect them from the madmen. He tried to bring families back together, because that was easier than trying to fix his own.

"Peyton's all I have." The older man spoke and brought Lucas's attention back from the fading embers. "But I know I rely on her too much. She's so young; she should be at college making a life for herself."

"She loves you." That much was obvious.

"She knows I drink." Larry kept his eyes cast upon the red patterns etched on the carpet. "She pretends she doesn't, but I know I don't hide it well."

Larry hadn't been able to cope; he'd muddled through following the death of his wife and raised Peyton as a single parent. He'd gone on because he'd had to. After the accident, after learning he'd never walk again, something had changed. He seemed to have lost the will to fight.

"I haven't touched a drop since her…."

"Mr. Sawyer," Lucas shook his head, indicating he didn't want to have this conversation.

"I saw the way you looked at me that night," Larry went on to confess. "And I don't blame you. I just sunk so low." He swallowed the dry lump that swelled up in his throat. "It's my fault. I should have worked harder on my rehab."

"Sir, I…." Lucas felt so bad for the father; he felt guilty for judging him. Larry Sawyer was torturing himself for not being able to protect his daughter.

"She'd have been safer if she wasn't here babysitting me."

That wasn't the case; Lucas thought of the scrapbook. Larry probably thought if Peyton had enrolled back at UNC that she'd have been safe. The truth was this monster had picked Peyton. And if he'd followed her and watched her for as long as it seemed he had, then Peyton Sawyer's fate was probably sealed no matter where she lived or what she did.

Larry let out a throaty cough. "I should've cleaned up my act. Then she wouldn't be here, looking after me. She wouldn't have been working at Eddy's."

"It's not your fault," Lucas uttered then. "He came after her. He chose her."

"Why?" Larry's hand gripped so hard on the arm of his wheelchair that his knuckles began to turn white. He couldn't understand why anyone would want to hurt Peyton. "Why my little girl?"

Lucas could only offer a shake of his head. He couldn't offer any answers to the anguished man but he wished he could.

Nothing, other than location, linked the missing women together. They were from different backgrounds and in different stages of their lives. They all looked different; Lucas suspected that there was something about the women that made the stalker go after them. But he couldn't fathom what it was.

"That's what we're trying to find out," Lucas said after a beat. He watched Larry's hands slacken from the chair. The older man looked almost defeated and it stung Lucas.

The phone buzzing inside Lucas's pocket brought the uncomfortable conversation to a halt. The call was from the police captain over at Fayetteville, NC. Lucas listened to the news coming from the other end of the line and he could feel Larry's eyes watching him intently.

"What is it?" Larry asked when Lucas flicked his phone shut.

"They found a body," Lucas murmured and met the eyes of the father.

"Is it…?" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. He couldn't bring himself to think the worst.

"I don't know. The body was found washed up just outside Fayetteville." Lucas stood up and shrugged on his coat as he spoke. He tried not to look too hard into the worried eyes of Larry Sawyer. The Cape Fear River linked Fayetteville with Wilmington. The fact made Lucas shiver. Larry could be facing every parent's worst nightmare and all Lucas could do for now was his job.

"I have to go, I'm sorry." At that Larry only bowed his head. He felt more useless than he had all week.

* * *

Peyton stirred slowly awake. She saw the rusty hue of fading sunlight spill in from the small sliver of a window. She guessed it must be late in the afternoon; the sun was disappearing below the trees. It had been raining when she'd come to lie down and she must have slept the entire day again.

She'd begun to lose track of time; the hours of day and darkness blended into one endless stretch. She let a mournful sigh pass her dry, cracked lips and into the cool air of her tiny cell. She'd been dreaming, she'd been running and she'd been free. But now she was back, trapped and afraid.

She'd been sleeping and sleeping some more; it seemed that was all she did. She couldn't remember ever sleeping so much since the times she'd been home sick from school. In her freshman year of high school she'd had pneumonia and all she remembered from being ill was she'd slept the days away as she recovered.

The house was silent and she expected Ian was still out. She'd barely seen him since he'd brought her here; he would go out for most of the day. He'd drive off early in the mornings, just after the sun rose, and he often wasn't back until dark. But she was glad of it when he wasn't there. He frightened her so much. When he was home, and she could hear him moving around the rest of the building, she was overwhelmed with panic.

She'd only come into contact with him when he brought her food. He'd bring her food twice a day, cereal in the morning and a sandwich at night. He would saunter in, setting a tray down on the little plastic table and he'd try to make small talk with her. She'd give him simple, one word answers and her eyes would always be fixed upon the knife he now carried.

Ian had threatened to cut her if she tried anything; he'd warned her that he'd kill her if she tried to escape. So she was quiet and polite. She reasoned with herself that if he grew to like her it would be harder for him to kill her. She struggled to hold her fiery temper sometimes; she'd been robbed of her independence and all she wanted to fight back. But she couldn't, not yet, not until the time was right. So for now she was determined just to stay alive and survive.

Once he'd leave her alone in the house, she'd eat quickly and hungrily. It was never enough and her stomach would grumble angrily. He only gave her enough to keep her from starving; he wanted to keep her weak and helpless.

Once she was alone in the house, she'd pace and plot how to get away. She'd searched the room within a matter of minutes. The only way out was the heavy door with its dead bolt. The window was too small to climb out of.

She'd listen for the sound of traffic, people or animals. She'd move to look out of her tiny slip of a window. She'd stare out at the grassy grounds, she knew she was being kept in the basement. She'd watch the world outside and hope that someone would look back in at her.

But they didn't. There wasn't any sign of life other than Ian, and native animals. All she ever heard was her own breathing and her own movements. That or Ian's own pottering around the rest of the building or driving away in his car. It was enough to drive her crazy or enough to make her lose faith.

_I can't give up..._

She told herself over and over again that there would be people out looking for her. People would be searching for her. She'd get out of this; she just had to keep hoping. She had to keep fighting.

So, with that resolved thought fresh in her mind, she stretched and relaxed her stiff arms. She swung her legs off the mattress before setting her bare feet on the cold flooring. He'd taken her shoes away, no doubt to make any escape attempt that much harder.

She walked clumsily over to the window and she peered outside. The tiny hairpin, with the little black and blue raven, was right where she'd left it. It had been a small keepsake from Brooke Davis, her best friend in high school, and she still wore it sometimes. She cradled it between her fingertips and stood up on her toes to reach the sill.

She marked off each day once the sun set beneath the tall trees. It was the only way she had of keeping track of the days while he kept her locked in this nightmare. She made tiny 'I' marks in the rotting window sill with the pin. She traced her finger along the line she'd crossed over the other four.

Five days, she'd been here for five days.

Her fingers shook and she dropped the pin with a soft clatter. She felt the tears stinging at the corner of her eyes and she tried to blink them away. She couldn't break down and lose all hope. Her father knew she was in trouble and he would be trying to find her.

She sank down on to her knees and took a shaking breath. She was a survivor; her dad always said so. Greg had often joked that she was a lot stronger and tougher than she looked. She could do this, she told herself. She just needed to bide her time.

She brushed the back of her hand over her bleary eyes before she placed a hand against the bricked wall to help herself back up. One brick moved slightly and caught her interest.

It was loose and Peyton carefully pried the loose slab away with her fingers. She dusted the mess off her hands and onto the stained, lime uniform. She peered at what was hidden within the gap.

Her stomach turned; it was a piece of curling paper. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what was written upon it. Perhaps it was a message from Ian, a threat that she'd rather not hear. But curiosity drove her and she pulled the folded note from its place and knelt down.

From the first sentence she wished she hadn't found this secret.

'_If you are reading this it most probably means that I am dead.'_

Tears and horror stung at her as she stared down at the crumpled page. Her eyes blurred over the spiky handwriting. She felt bile rise up within her throat as she read over the words of Sherrie O'Neil. She placed one hand over her mouth to smother her shocked sobs.

Sherrie O'Neil, the young wife and mother, had been kept in this very same room. That thought was beyond horrifying. Peyton pressed her eyelids shut as she quietly whispered a prayer for Sherrie and for her poor family.

After a few moments of quiet and mournful respect, Peyton cast her eyes back to the unfortunate woman's last, captured words. Sherrie went on to say goodbye to her family, to her husband and to her young children. She told them she loved them, she missed them and that she was sorry.

Sherrie had nothing to be sorry for.

A chill traveled up her spine. Ian was responsible for the disappearances of the missing girls. Peyton was sure of it. She remembered how everyone in Wilmington was so wary of this kidnapper. They'd spoken in ghostly whispers as though he was the bogeyman. Now Peyton knew that both she and Sherrie were held at Ian's mercy.

"Peyton?"

His voice startled her. She hadn't even heard his truck pulling back up. With a trembling hand she pushed the letter into her pocket.

She turned around to see him staring at her from her place on the stone floor. She watched his muddy black boots as he moved towards her. She instinctively felt her body curling and shrinking further towards the wall. He was responsible for those women's disappearances and now she had proof.

"Come on, baby." His hand encased her arm. He chuckled deep in his throat. "What are you doing on the floor?"

"I was … I got dizzy I guess," she replied weakly. She avoided looking into those glassy, unfeeling eyes of his. She'd been afraid of him before but now she was terrified. He was a murderer.

His keen eyes turned to look at the piece of shattered brick still resting on the ground. "Are you trying to dig your way out?" He spoke in a mocking tone but his grip tightened on her wrist.

"No." She didn't dare look at him. She shook her head and stared down at the dirty marks on her uniform.

His arms encircled her waist and he pulled her effortlessly to her feet. He moved her back over to the bed and shoved her down onto the mattress.

"Good." He bent his body slightly so he hovered over her. He brushed the matted curls from her eyes, and tilted her chin backward, forcing her to look at him. "That's good because you really should remember the rules by now."

He was insane, she thought bitterly. He rested his forehead against hers; she hated him being so close. She could smell his rancid breath; he'd been eating something with garlic and spices. Her nose crinkled in disgust. He smiled his evil little smirk and she wanted to strike him.

"So she's still in there then?" His mouth curled even wider. "That feisty little girl?"

She didn't speak a word. She didn't trust the retort ready to spill from the tip of her tongue. She did however narrow her eyes and she met his icy stare full on for the first time.

"I'm glad." His stroked her messy hair with his calloused hand. "So I thought we could have a nice, intimate dinner together. I haven't been around much and I should really make it up to you."

He strode away confidently from her and she moved into a seated position. She watched as he left the room briefly only to return with a full-length white gown. He crossed back and laid the silk dress with its beaded detail out in front of her.

"Do you like it?" he prompted when she said nothing. "I had it made especially for you."

"It's lovely," she spat out unconvincingly. Her disgust got the better of her but he ignored it.

"Good." He crouched down to look at her face. He wore his evil glint. " I thought you could get all dressed up. We can eat and then go up to my room."

Peyton shook her head just a fraction; he was crazy. She'd never let him touch her.

He didn't wait for a response; he straightened back up and marched over to the door. "I'm going to start dinner and then I'll be back for you."

When the solid door slammed shut and the locks creaked and turned, she let out a shuddering breath.

* * *

Peyton obeyed his instructions. She'd even been allowed out of her cell to shower for the occasion. Ian led her to a dank little shower room just down the hall. The corridor's only light came from the small, high windows like the one in her room. Her nostrils tingled at the hint of paint and wood chips. The floor beneath her bare feet was warmer; the wooden boards were a welcome change to the stone she'd paced upon for the last few days.

The entire basement area looked like it was newly converted. She wondered for a fleeting and terrifying second whether he'd made this little unit for her and the other girls he captured. The thought made her shudder in her own skin.

He left her in the bathroom but warned her he was just outside. He'd supplied her with her favorite shampoos and products. She'd slipped out of the dirty uniform and left her clothes in a pile. She stood under the steaming hot shower with trembling shoulders. He seemed to know the smallest and most insignificant details about her, details that she really didn't want him to know. Even her father, god bless him, had never picked up her preferred cosmetics on a weekly trip to the market.

The shower served its purpose though. It helped clear the cobwebs inside her frightened head. The warm steaming water seemed to revive her and she began to focus.

Being taken upstairs was a good thing. She'd be out of her 'padded cell' as she thought of it. She could assess her situation better and plan for escape. She just needed to play along. Pretend so she could learn where the phone was, and where he kept the car keys.

Once she'd washed and dried, she put on his dress. The white material fitted snugly against her. It hugged at her little chest with its jeweled bodice before flowing down off her hips in swathes of pale silk. She would have liked it, maybe, if she didn't know the horrible intentions of this madman.

She took Sherrie's note from the pocket of her uniform and slipped it into the dress. She'd keep it close; Sherrie's words to her family were too precious to lose.

Then Peyton waited, pacing the bathroom tiles and preparing herself for what was to come. She could smell roast chicken.

She finally heard the telltale sound of his footsteps and she straightened up and took a large gulp of air. 'Show time', she thought.

The locks turned in the door and he came into her view. He'd changed for the occasion too; he wore a suit. He really did think this was going to be a night to remember, Peyton thought bleakly.

"You look amazing. So very beautiful," he told her, smiling brightly as if this was actually a real date. "The dress suits you." His eyes trailed from her face and over her slender frame.

She felt uncomfortable in her own skin as he stared at her. She brought her arms self-consciously to her chest.

He smirked at her action. "We're going to have a nice dinner and then a wonderful night together."

She tried to force a smile though she felt sick; his intentions made her flesh crawl and her stomach turn.

_Play along, Peyton, _she urged herself inwardly.

Ian took her hand and led her up the stairs and out of the basement. Her eyes squinted against the brightness of the lamps.

The rest of the building actually looked like a normal home. It was an old but recently renovated cottage. It still had its high, wooden beams and cozy little fire place. The rooms were homey and cared for. The furniture was pretty and old fashioned. The living space was filled with ornaments and trinkets; it almost reminded her of her own grandmother's bungalow.

"Where are we?" Peyton stared away from the homely scene and out of the window. The old, winding trees were cast as bold shadows against the fading, orange sky. The woodland area looked similar to what she was used to in North Carolina. She didn't think she could be that far away.

"Does it matter?" His hand tightened around hers. "All that matters is you're here with me. Come now." Ian linked his arm through hers and led her across carpeted floors and into the dining room.

He'd laid out quite the feast on the large, oak table. The roast chicken was in the center and surrounded by steaming plates of roasted vegetables, potatoes and bread rolls. He'd placed candles around the room and soft music played in the background.

He sat her down at one end of the table. He tied her to the chair at her waist and her ankles. She tried to protest but he only answered that he still didn't trust her. He left her hands free so she could eat. He served her food, setting the plate in front of her. He laid a napkin in her lap with an elaborate flourish.

"Is the food okay?" he asked once the dinner had begun. He was sitting at the head of the table and devouring the meat.

Peyton looked down at her plate after he spoke. She'd been ravenous while she was locked in that small room and she had craved a hot, cooked meal. But now the dinner remained untouched and her appetite had diminished. Now her stomach churned with her own uncertainties of what might happen to her tonight.

"I…."All she could think about was Sherrie O'Neil and those other women. The idea of him wanting a warped celebration made her feel sick to her very core. But she was trying to keep her emotions intact; she knew she'd have a better chance of getting out of this situation if she didn't anger him. "I'm not hungry."

"You should try to eat; you need to keep your strength up. You're looking too thin. We need to take better care of you."

His eyes moved over her slim figure with what could almost be genuine concern. That frightened her; was he that deluded? Was this his idea of how to show love? But she supposed she had an advantage over him if he cared. She reminded herself again that if he cared for her then he wouldn't be able to bring himself to kill her.

"The food looks great; I just don't feel so good."

"You should try and eat a little," he persisted.

"I'm really not hungry," Peyton trembled involuntarily, her body quivered visibly in her seat. The sight of food made her nauseous. She could barely tolerate the smell of the gravy or the sound of him chewing.

"Well, then," Ian dropped his napkin on the table and stood up. He wore a wide grin and he moved over to the wine bottle he'd left chilling in a bucket of ice. "This is a special occasion and we should have a drink to celebrate."

He poured them each a glass and moved to her end of the table. He sat down beside her, not caring a bit that his food had gone to waste.

"Having you here is everything I've ever wanted," he stated as he clinked her glass with his own and took a measured gulp.

Peyton took a sip as well, it was ill-advised perhaps but she'd give anything to ease her frayed nerves.

He set his drink down before running his hand over her long, tumbling locks. "You should wear your hair that way more often. It suits you," he commented of the style; she'd only washed and left it to dry naturally and now it curled wildly.

Peyton offered a little nod and then lowered her gaze to her hands resting in her lap. She ran her fingers over the silky fabric.

"What's wrong?" Ian frowned; the girl in front of him was meek and demure, and the girl he'd always imagined was fiery. His Peyton was far surer of herself, more headstrong.

"Nothing," she spoke uncertainly. She could see the front door; all she had to do was play along and then when she had the opportunity she could make an escape. "I'm just…."

"You're nervous. Oh baby, there's no need to be nervous." He stroked his fingers over her bare arm. "You are so perfect. You look so beautiful."

Her skin felt as if it was crawling as he touched her. He repulsed her.

"Do you like the dress?" He'd spent so long deciding on the perfect dress for this girl.

"I've worn better," she sniped back.

Ian chuckled bitterly. That was more like his Peyton and he took another sip of the wine. "It's like the one you wore to your own senior prom," he said with a knowing grin.

It wasn't, she'd worn a green slinky number that Brooke had designed for her.

"I think you're getting me confused with someone else." She spoke the words bitterly. She felt her anger burn. Was he thinking of Sherrie O'Neil or one of the students from Chapel Hill?

"I don't think so, sweetheart."

"You're wrong," Peyton's gaze had been fixed on her own glass but now she raised her eyes to focus on him. "I never wore a dress like this."

He faltered and it was clearly obvious he didn't like to be wrong.

"Oh, come now," he tried to brush his mistake away. "I know everything about you. Every detail. Like how your momma died in that tragic accident. She left you when you were still so little. Or how about how you turned rebellious as a teenager? Daddy couldn't cope with his precious little princess going off the rails could he? That's why he worked out at sea, isn't it?"

"Don't," she spat. She didn't know how he knew these things. He had no right to know about these details in her life.

"I know," he hissed.

Peyton avoided his intent stare; she hated this. She hated him. He seemed to know the points of her life that she'd rather just forget.

"I know how you acted out to get your absentee daddy's attention. But it's okay, I understand you. We all lose our way during our teen-aged years, sweetheart. And it's okay because I love you. I'm going to give you everything now."

"You're insane," she grumbled. She'd never return his love. "You don't know anything."

"Really?" His voice was irritated and angry. His grip tightened on his wine glass. "Because I've watched you. I've got to know you. I love you."

"You don't. You don't love anything. You're…." Her words died on her lips. He was getting worked up like he'd done at the diner. That darkness had returned back to his icy orbs. Her emotions were getting the better of her and she closed her mouth again.

"I'm what?" His breathing was quick and erratic. "Come on then. What am I? A monster? A killer?"

When she failed to answer him he let out a piercing yell. He threw the glass at the wall. She flinched as the glass smashed. The golden contents splattered and stained the wall.

"You killed them, didn't you?"

She muttered the question sadly but she realized miserably that it was more of a statement of fact.

He didn't deny it. He didn't show any hint of regret or remorse.

"Why?"

All she could think was that those girls had gone through what she'd been forced to live these past few days.

"Because you girls are all the same," he snarled. His eyes bulged inside their sockets. "So stupid and very disappointing."

She didn't respond, she only stared at him. She hated him.

He turned to the cabinet behind him. He fumbled within it; he was furious and his movements were jittery.

"I would have given you everything." He turned back around with a syringe in his hand. "But you had to go and ruin everything."

Her eyes widened as she saw the needle. She cowered back in the wooden seat as he stepped slowly towards her. She struggled and jerked against the ropes that held her. She was crying and pleading.

"I really didn't want to do it this way," he admitted. He grabbed her arm so hard she thought he would break it.

The sharp point penetrated the white skin of her shoulder. A despondent cry caught up in her throat as he pushed the syringe into her flesh. The drug acted instantly, overtaking her senses. His face blurred before her very eyes, and whatever he was saying sounded so distant and nonsensical.

Then, finally, unconsciousness took hold of her body.

* * *

The body wasn't hers. It wasn't Peyton Sawyer.

Lucas stood in the eerily-quiet mortuary with Mitch and the Fayetteville detective. And he'd held back his breath as the coroner lifted the pale, graying sheet off the ill-fated woman. He shouldn't have felt any sense of relief. But when he saw the absence of wild curls he'd wordlessly uttered a prayer of thanks for Larry.

The local police detective Daryl Sykes stiffened immediately at the sight of the body. The newly-promoted man hadn't seen a dead body this close before. Despite his strong, prominent jaw and stocky frame, he didn't strike Lucas as a leader. At least not if this first impression of the man fumbling for a tissue, and attempting not to gag, was anything to go by.

The coroner, Dr. Harold Smith, a man in his late fifties, cleared his throat before he spoke. He informed them the body belonged to Sherrie O'Neil. The mother from Charlotte was dressed in a stained white gown. Her skin was pale and mottled.

The thankfulness Lucas felt for the young waitress and her dad was short-lived as he stared down at the unfortunate woman lying on the cold stab in front of them. Empathy spread through him when he learned that Sherrie had drowned. From the marks on her body, defensive and otherwise, it was apparent that she had been held under the water.

She'd suffered and died at the hands of their crazed stalker. Lucas felt sick to his stomach. Too many innocent people were affected by this monster he was chasing. It was so senseless and there was nothing more he could do for this poor woman other than trying to find this man who'd robbed her of her life and her family.

Dr. Smith pulled the sheet back over Sherrie O'Neil to conceal her from view.

Lucas walked from the mortuary. He opened the door and stepped out into the parking lot only to be met with the slap of harsh, wet gusts of wind.

"We should go tonight," Lucas ventured to Mitch Cassidy. He didn't want to waste the time of waiting until morning. "Get a proper look at the scene."

Mitch nodded in his response; it made sense to go to look at the scene sooner rather than later. But the older man's look held a slight reluctance. Going into the depths of the woods wasn't an idea he relished. Certainly not while it was dark and there could possibly be a crazed psychopathic killer on the loose.

"I can take you there," Daryl Sykes offered. He seemed eager to be of assistance. "I can give you a ride over there now?"

They accepted and followed the detective to the squad car.

* * *

It happened when it was still dark. She knew the sun was about to rise. She listened to the birds' early morning song like she did every day since she'd been there. The first rays of light were poking through the bleak skies. The world was beginning to wake.

Peyton had slept fitfully throughout the night. The drug he'd given her had left her thoughts jumbled and unfocused. Her head was pounding from the effects of the chemicals and she squeezed her eyes shut against the light. Her skin felt cold and clammy.

She kept thinking of their dinner. She shivered; she'd angered him and she was terrified of what he might do next.

She shifted awkwardly on her side and tried to hug the blanket tighter around her bare shoulders. Her wrists throbbed from the effort; he'd tied them together and they were tighter this time. So tight that the bonds had begun to pierce and bruise her skin.

She heard him moving around upstairs and her body stiffened. She listened to the creaks of the old floorboards. He was normally up this early; but her alarm raced as she heard him come down the stairs.

His footsteps thundered ever closer. Peyton felt a small, frail breath leave her mouth. The locks of her door turned. She struggled to sit up; she was afraid.

Ian didn't speak to her. He moved to her and shoved her back down on to the mattress. He didn't give her a chance to struggle against him. He covered her mouth with one large, cold hand and he pressed all of his weight on top of her.

"I've tried to be nice," he said pinning her down. His hands curled around her throat.

She tried to move but she couldn't.

His hold was tight and unyielding; he was squeezing and stopping the air getting to her lungs.

Peyton's eyes widened. Fear sparked through her as she noticed the little marks at the bed posts. Fingernail marks lay stretched across the wood and were illuminated in the fading moonlight.

He had done this before, she thought unnervingly. He'd done it before, to Sherrie, and he wasn't going to stop. He didn't care. He'd made that perfectly clear.

His hands squeezed harder, crushing her windpipe. The sounds ringing in her ears were strange, and so unpleasant. She realized they were coming from her. He was far too heavy and so strong.

"I would have taken care of you. I would have loved you."

His words were hot and dangerous. But they sounded further away. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't process what was happening anymore. She was aware of her fingers scratching and pulling at his hands.

Her eyelids were fluttering madly as she tried not to lose consciousness. Her vision was blurring into a vast blackness. She could feel herself losing control.

"Poor baby," Ian's lips were at her ear, stirring her awake. But his hands weren't crushing her neck. "Don't you see I don't want to hurt you? You just make me so mad."

'I'm alive', she thought drowsily.

Cold air rushed in to her burning lungs, but as much as she needed and craved it, it seemed to irritate her system. She gasped and coughed uncontrollably. Her fingers moved to touch at her tender throat.

She'd blacked out, her mind realized that much. She'd disobeyed him. He could have killed her, but hadn't. She didn't understand. He seemed to be playing with her now, showing her that he held that control.

He was stroking the feverish skin of her cheek. "Haven't you ever wanted something so much that you'll do anything to get it? Have you ever been so in love with someone that you go crazy without them?"

He spoke to her and his icy blue orbs stared down at her. His long, spindly fingers brushed her matted curls from her forehead. She flinched, afraid that he was going to hurt her again.

"I love you so much, my perfect Peyton. Don't you see that we're meant to be together?"

'You're psychotic,' was her head's response but her voice managed nothing more than a weak rasp.

He slipped the beaded strap of the dress off her shoulder. He moved his face in closer and he inhaled her scent. He pressed a kiss to her bare skin. "I'm going to show you how much I love you."

"Don't," she whimpered in a small, desperate voice. Her body stiffened and recoiled as he caressed her.

Her skin felt frozen against his touch. He'd already taken so much from her: her freedom, her right to feel safe in her own life. And how he wanted to control her own body and take away her last shred of control.

"Shh," he nuzzled at her throat, his fingers coiled up in her hair. His touches were agonizingly gentle. "Just relax and I won't hurt you anymore."

Peyton pressed her eyes shut. She tried to block him out; she wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else.

Ian was pinning her down against the mattress; she could feel his hardness against her. She wanted to cry, she felt so sick and unclean.

"Good girl." He pressed his mouth down upon hers for a kiss that she'd never return.

"No." She could smell his sweaty body and the tobacco lingering on his breath. Her body was rigid. Her hot tears flowed and a suffocating panic welled up within her. She could hear her pleas ringing in her own ears but he didn't stop.

"I'm here now, baby, it's all right." She could feel him trying to deepen the kiss; she could feel his hands roam over her. He pulled at the fabric of the thin dress.

"No! Don't!" She sobbed. The drug may have slowed down her reactions but her overwhelming fear was sobering her instincts.

"Stop struggling, Peyton." His hands groped over her, his touch was becoming demanding and forceful again. He wasn't going to stop; he ripped her dress and she felt the chilling air against her legs.

"Stop!" She was crying so hard but she wouldn't give up. She clawed at him with her tied hands.

Ian growled and pulled her fingers from his face. He struck her hard, the back of his hand connected with her jaw. Her vision clouded and she fell back against the pillows. She could taste her own blood and she instinctively curled into herself.

"You stupid girl!" Ian's hand moved to his bloodied cheek.

The bed dipped and he was pulling her from the tight bundle she'd coiled into. He forced her to lie on her back and she blinked against the harsh rays of sunlight.

"I really do feel it all, baby," he told her. "I never wanted to hurt you."

She hated him. He was insane and delusional. To her he was nothing but an unfeeling monster. He'd hurt and killed before. She didn't believe him to be capable of love.

He stood up and she heard the tearing, metallic sound of a zipper. She was weak and woozy because of the drug, his latest strike and the lack of oxygen in her system. She wasn't even completely aware of her own actions.

Her brain told her to take the chance and she did.

It was now or never.

He was already turning to finish the job and get what he wanted. Peyton half leaped, half kicked out at him. With the bedpost as leverage, she thrashed out against him in pure anger. She connected at the soft part of his side and caught him off guard.

He made some yelp of pain; she'd surprised him as much as she'd surprised herself. She'd hurt him. He clutched at his left side for a moment then his legs buckled from beneath him.

He crumpled to the floor. The side of his head smacked against the corner of the plastic table.

Ian's eyes rolled into the back of his head before he blacked out.

Peyton held onto a shocked breath. He didn't get up, he didn't move. He was done for and unconscious by some twisted turn of fate.

* * *

_Run._

Peyton's heart hammered furiously as she made it up the stairs and to the front door. She wrenched the heavy wooden door open and finally found herself outside. She blinked against the early light; she wasn't used to it. But it felt welcome on her skin.

This was the first time she'd been out in the real world for days. She staggered onto the hard, uneven ground of the make-shift driveway. His car wasn't there; he'd most likely locked it away. She didn't want to go back inside to find the keys. She didn't know how long he'd be out cold for.

She decided she'd just have to make a run for it. She was bare-footed, still woozy from the struggle and the sedative but she didn't care. This was her one chance, her salvation.

She knew she hadn't hurt him badly enough. He'd come after her as soon as he regained consciousness. If he caught her now, he'd most certainly kill her like he always threatened he would. She gathered the long swathes of her ripped dress and started off along the winding, dirt path.

Peyton urged herself onwards as she ran through the wooded area. She ran as fast as her feet, and her hammering heart, would allow. Her heart's rapid beat thundered in her ears and she was almost certain it would give out at any second. Little sharp stones cut the soles of her feet and the muddy forest floor made it harder to run.

She had to escape. She had gotten away from him, but he would try to catch her and bring her back to the hell he'd forced her to live.

The fallen branches and brambles staggered her escape; every so often she'd stumble and fall. Her bound wrists made it even harder but she'd pull herself up and urge herself forward.

She had to keep going. She had to keep running.

She had no idea where she was. She didn't recognize the forest. It was thicker and denser than the ones she knew in Wilmington. She guessed he'd taken her far from the areas she was familiar with.

She tripped over a thick tree root and she fell hard with a cracking pain. Her ankle stabbed and sparkled with a new, hot tenderness. She curled into herself to examine her injury. Her hands cradled her lower calf and she sighed desperately. She didn't think she'd broken it; she could still move it, but it hurt so badly. She'd most likely sprained it and she realized fearfully that would only slow her down.

She couldn't be done for, she just couldn't.

The rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs had her pulling up to her feet once again. It was too loud and purposeful to be an animal. It had to be _him_.

He was close by. He was hunting her as if she was prey.

_Oh God no_, she moved forward with labored steps. She dragged her hurt leg; she hobbled and grasped hold of tree trucks and low hanging branches to help herself along on her painful way. She wasn't moving fast enough now and see could hear the movements getting ever closer.

She kept looking out for him; she kept searching for somewhere to hide. She needed to rest, if she could find somewhere to conceal herself she could wait and hide until he gave in. And she could tend to her leg.

She crashed into something, something softer than a tree. It was a person and that offered her little comfort.

Arms moved to encircle her, and she instinctively stiffened and shied away. It had to be Ian; he'd trapped her once again and this time he'd really hurt her. She jerked, she was ready to flee.

"Peyton? Peyton Sawyer?"

The sound of her name stopped her and she forced her bleary orbs upwards again to see blond hair and blue eyes. But they weren't Ian's icy blue eyes, they were deeper and brighter. His face was kind and concerned. His touch was gentler and steadied her so she didn't stumble and fall.

"It's okay. I'm here to help you."

She couldn't find her voice but her fingers curled around the crisp material of his windbreaker. 'FBI' was printed in big yellow letters; she'd seen the blue jackets like the one this man was wearing on TV. Her shoulders slackened and she rested her forehead against the chest of the agent who'd come for her. For just a minute she wanted to break down.

"It's okay," he repeated in a reassuring voice. He brought his hand to rest on her shoulder and she let out a small sob.

Lucas just held her. She was trembling and clinging on to him. She was wearing a gown that was probably identical to the one found on Sherrie O'Neil. "Ms. Sawyer, are you hurt?" he asked. "I need to get you out of here. Get you to a hospital."

Peyton gradually collected herself. She pried her fingers from his dark jacket and pulled away. They both knew she wasn't out of harm's way.

"It's all right," he told her softly. His eyes trailed to her bound hands. "May I?"

She realized he was asking for permission before he even so much as untied her. This man was polite and kind with her. She only moved closely in her response.

Lucas' hands worked quickly to untie her wrists. He pulled the frayed strands of rope from the girl and winced at the angry, bruising marks the bonds left on her porcelain skin. She wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were focused down on the ground below her feet. She seemed ashamed and he tried to block his thoughts of what might have happened to Peyton Sawyer. The white dress she wore was ripped and torn. The injuries she had were all too consistent with a sexual attack. The haunted look she wore bothered him.

The young waitress was alive but he had to act quickly.

"I'm Agent Lucas Scott," he said gently once her hands were free. She was rubbing and flexing her wrists gingerly. "I'm with the FBI. I'm here to help you, Ms. Sawyer."

"Peyton," she corrected. Her voice sounded dry and so unfamiliar to her. She met his eyes properly now. "It's Peyton."

"Is he here close by?" He tried to keep the urgency from his voice but he needed to get the girl to safety. And he wanted to get this creep caught before he could disappear into the darkness again.

At his question the girl's eyes glittered with new tears.

"No, I don't know… he tried to…." She swallowed thickly. "I stopped him. He was unconscious. I don't know how long for."

Lucas digested the information. He had to get her out of there. And he wanted to get officers down to capture him. "Do you know where he is? Or where you came from?"

Peyton's eyes darted around the vast muddle of trees and twisting paths. Every direction looked exactly the same, and she shook her head. She didn't have the faintest idea where she'd come from or where she'd been running to. She'd just wanted to get away from Ian.

"There was a house. I don't know where anymore," she murmured miserably. "It all looks the same."

"Peyton, listen to me," Lucas's hands moved to Peyton's bare arms as he attempted to soothe her. It would be easier if she stayed focused and together. "We need to get you out of here. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

His tone was stern but it calmed her. She just needed someone else to be strong for her now. She nodded again in response. She just wanted to go home. She wanted this nightmare to be over. She moved closer to him.

Lucas shrugged his windbreaker off of his body and draped it over Peyton's small frame. "There's a road not too far that way. I can radio for backup and have them get us."

Peyton wordlessly agreed and huddled further into the jacket. She hobbled alongside him as he contacted his team. She just wanted to get as far away from Ian as possible.

"This is Agent Scott." Lucas radioed for assistance and informed the team of their coordinates.

"We're not too far from the road," he told her. He pocketed the radio and glanced at her. She was struggling forward; her bare feet and legs were scratched and muddied. Her limp became obvious; she was dragging her bruised and swollen foot.

Lucas moved towards her, delicately placing her own arm around his shoulders and resting his at her waist. She didn't protest as she was beyond exhausted. She rested gratefully against his warm body. He helped her to move onward. They weaved through tangled branches and snaking paths.

They finally reached the road and the police cruisers and EMTs were there and waiting. Lucas felt her hands only grip tighter onto him as the officials moved forward. She was slightly overwhelmed by the sudden rush of people. He whispered words of encouragement into her ear. She believed him long enough to be lifted from him and bundled onto an awaiting stretcher.

Mitch Cassidy found Lucas amongst the crowd. "You did good."

The detective didn't question or lecture about what Lucas had been doing in the wooded area by himself that morning. The two had decided to call it a night just before the sun rose on the day, for a couple of hours of sleep before the next shift. Lucas had gone back to a silent motel room but hadn't been able to shut his mind off. His mind and thoughts had been with the Sawyers and the O'Neils; and he'd traveled back to the river. But he hadn't expected Peyton Sawyer to come running to him.

"She says he has a house in the forest," Lucas informed his partner. "She hurt him trying to escape. He was down, Mitch."

It had been a night of mixed fortune; one of the missing women had been found murdered, but the fourth victim was alive and safe. And they may have a location where this man took the girls.

This was good. Mitch leapt quickly into action, assembling the police officials together. This was the biggest development they'd had since beginning the case. A search could finally uncover this man and they needed to act immediately.

"You ready?" Mitch called to Lucas.

Lucas flipped his cell phone shut after calling a tearful and grateful Larry. He pulled a new police jacket over his pale blue shirt and watched as Detective Cassidy strode confidently to him.

"Yeah. Just give me a minute, okay?" Lucas's eyes wandered to the young woman as she sat waiting to go to the hospital. Mitch only nodded and Lucas walked over to her.

Peyton's tired eyes met his own as he approached. She lifted her head from its resting place against the ambulance wall.

She hadn't wanted to lie on a stretcher. It was probably silly but being strapped down made her uneasy. The female EMT had agreed to let her ride in the back after checking her over. She'd left Peyton wrapped in a large woolen blanket while she radioed the local hospital.

"I called your father; he's on his way to meet you."

She managed a smile; she felt the warmth and comfort spread through her at the thought of her father, but she also felt the sting of tears. She hadn't erased the nagging fear that she may have never seen him again.

"You're going after him?" she asked when the SWAT team began to disappear into the trees.

"Yes," Lucas smiled at her. "Thanks to you we might catch him."

"I hope so," she whispered.

Peyton drew the thick blanket tighter around her shoulders in an attempt to block the chilling sensation traveling up her spine. She wanted so badly for Ian to be captured; she wanted her nightmare to be over for good. And she didn't want him to have the chance to hurt anyone else.

"It's going to be okay now," he placed a hand on her arm. "It's over."

It was over. She was safe and she'd see her daddy soon enough. She would just feel better when she knew Ian was caught and locked away.

Peyton bobbed her head again and felt the FBI agent's hand tighten reassuringly on her arm. She'd met him just minutes before, in one of the most terrifying times of her life, and yet she'd placed more faith in him than the majority of people in her life.

Mitch's voice called for his attention, and Lucas turned his head towards the forest's entrance. "I have to go," he told her.

"Good luck." She wished him well and brought her sore, callused hand to rest on top of his.

Lucas smiled and held her gaze once more before he moved to the clearing. He was resolved to catch this monster.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note - Hey guys, I'm so sorry that this chapter is so long in coming. I've had a busy few months with it being my final year at university and all. My updates for all stories should be a lot quicker from now. Thanks to everyone for reading, for those who have left reviews and messages.

Special thanks to mam711 for her beta-work on the story.

Song lyrics - Running up the Hill by Kate Bush. The flashback included within the chapter is in present-tense.

**Protected**

**Chapter 5 – Running up that Hill**

_Is evil born into the world, left to flourish in the darkness? Is it an unyielding force, left to seek us out and prey upon us? _

Ian stared around the empty living room. He clenched his fists at his sides and tried to control the anger boiling inside him. This had been the perfect set-up for so many months and now he was going to have to leave.

Peyton was gone, rescued by the police. He'd seen her being driven away in an ambulance, surrounded by the local police and the FBI. They would be coming for him. They were coming to catch him.

He had to focus. He stood still, his eyes fixed upon old family portraits. Looking at the pictures he could almost see better times.

He stared at _her_ smiling face. His arm was around her as they posed and grinned at the camera. Her eyes shone back at him, bright as emeralds and frozen in time. He ran an index finger across the glass; she still spoke to him sometimes.

The sound of animals howling in the depths of the woods stirred him back to the present. They were coming for him, with their guns and their judgments. He was about to set the photograph back in its original place on the mantel; back amongst the rest of the hollow memories, but he thought better of it. He tucked the picture into the pocket of his jacket.

He still couldn't let her go. After all this time she still had that hold over him.

He shook that thought away. He had to move fast. He picked up the heavy can of lighter fluid and doused the furniture and the wooden floorboards thickly. Once he'd emptied the container, he tossed it aside with a thud. He threw one last glance around the house.

He idly remembered that as a child some things had been so hard for him to give up; his first teddy bear, an old and worn comfort blanket, the bike he'd gotten for his seventh birthday. He'd been so unnecessarily sentimental. But then he'd learned cruelly and bitterly that nothing lasted forever. That no matter how much people clung and sought after forever and happiness it slipped through their fingers like sand. People changed, they grew up, and they grew apart and out of the things they had once loved.

His blue eyes fixed upon the memories as they burned and faded.

* * *

_It doesn't hurt me._

He storms past the crowd of giggling girls in their taffeta dresses and the football players who now have another reason to humiliate him on a daily basis. He makes it off the dance floor and tries to ignore the taunts from the quarterback. He rounds the corner, making it out of the gym and into the quiet corridor. He's so eager to get away that he crashes into Mrs. Winters, his math teacher and a chaperone at the prom.

She knows he's upset; she's been one of the only people who had ever seemed to care about him. He lifts up his palm and waves off her concern. She mutters something, most likely words of comfort but he isn't listening. He makes it to the double doors and outside into the dark. He smacks his hand at a bunch of golden and blue balloons tied next to the school's exit.

He should never have gone to prom.

Once outside the cool night's air tickles against his clammy, flushed cheeks and helps to brush away maybe a little of his shame. He stands, needing a moment of quiet calm, but he hears the hurried steps coming up behind him. He didn't find the peace he craved, but he just knew she'd follow after him.

"Can we talk about this?" Jessie chases him out of the crowded high school gym. Her heels clack against the parking lot's asphalt. She stumbles unsurely; she's barely used to walking and dancing in the footwear let alone racing after her angry and fleeting boyfriend.

She looks so lovely in the flowing white gown with the hand-stitched beaded bodice. Her normally frizzy, messy hair is styled into waves of flowing golden silk. With the tiara placed on her head she looks every bit the princess he'd thought he had found.

It hurts him to look at her. It hurts to look at the image of beauty and see only her betrayal shining back at him. He turns his head back towards the parking lot and marches away in search of his car.

"Don't walk away." She lifts the long skirt and hurries after him. There is more to the story; if she could get him to listen to her then she could make it better. "Please, will you just talk to me?"

_You wanna feel how it feels?_

"Just let me explain," she begs.

He doesn't want to talk about it. He's furious. The perfect image of the perfect prom night has been shattered.

"Just listen to me. Please," her footsteps click as she follows him at an uncertain pace. "There's more to the story."

He shakes his head, still striding forward. He really is past caring. He doesn't want to know, he doesn't want to hear it. She's a liar and a disappointment.

He reaches the blue Cadillac and he reaches into his tux jacket's pocket for the key. His hand is shaking and he curses under his breath as he struggles to open the car door. He accidentally makes a small scratch on the paintwork. It's his father's car; it's on loan for the best night of a high school senior's life.

"I'm so sorry." She sobs behind him once he's finally managed to open the door.

"Please." She's still following right behind him; she won't take the hint.

He slams the door shut as he settles into the driver's seat. He fires up the ignition and she's climbing into the passenger's side.

_You wanna know; know that it doesn't hurt me?_

"Please come back inside," Jessie requests quietly. He's so angry right now that she doesn't think it's safe or sensible for him to be driving along the dark country lanes. "We can talk about it. Just let me explain."

He doesn't speak. He doesn't bother looking at her. He buckles up and he starts to reverse out of the parking spot.

"Fine," Jessie folds her arms to her chest. Her face is set and resolved and she stares out of the windshield and she focuses now on the night sky. She's letting him know that if he's leaving then she's coming along with him. She's always been stubborn and she'll make him talk to her eventually.

_But see how deep the bullet lies._

He navigates out of the school's lot and onto the quiet neighborhood streets. Without her crying and begging all he can do is think about what he's just grips the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white. He clenches his jaw.

"How could you?"

It's the first sentence out of his mouth. It's the first time he turns to look at her. She's still wearing the sparkling tiara on top of her perfectly-styled blonde curls.

Jessie doesn't answer immediately. She only sniffles and that makes him even more furious.

_Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder._

"How could you?" he questions in a low, brittle whisper.

"It was.…" she turns to face him with new tears streaming down her cheeks. "It was a…." Her speech is cut off as she only cries harder. She hates to argue and to fight. It's all Jessie's parents ever do; she hates it. He and Jessie don't fight; she always tells him what he wants to hear.

He knows what will eventually spill from her lips, and it only serves to push him further into his tirade.

"Don't tell me it was a mistake," he roars.

That's not what he wants to hear. She hurt him. And it wasn't a mistake. Cheating is never a mistake.

_There's a thunder in our hearts, baby._

Jessie flinches, the sobs catch up in her throat. Her crying all but ceases. She tells him so often that she hates it when he gets like this. It scares her when he gets this mad.

He normally feels guilty at seeing that fear and terror leaking out from her lovely eyes. This time however he feels a warm buzz of satisfaction.

_So much hate for the ones we love?_

He continues to drive, turning sharply onto the twisty lanes as they leave the white-picket-fenced neighborhood behind them and travel down into the town's outskirts.

It's in the dimmer lights that Jessie finds her voice again.

"You weren't supposed to find out like this."

He shakes his head and stifles a bitter laugh; she's trying to offer some sort of commiseration. Like there was any better way for him to find out.

"Don't you mean I wasn't supposed to find out at all?" He turns his icy stare back onto her, challenging her to tell him different. But she doesn't.

"I'm sorry," she sniffs.

"Was it a joke?"

"What?"

"Was it a joke? Did you have a real good laugh at my expense?"

"No," she shakes her head decisively.

"Did you think about me at all?" he questions.

It's the first time he lets the hurt take him. He hates it and he hates the pitying look in her shining eyes as she whispers a 'no' and reaches her hand to touch at his arm.

"I didn't think so," he utters in bitter sadness. He shrugs off her soft touch.

_Tell me, we both matter, don't we?_

He leans forward and turns on the radio. He's done talking and he's done listening to her. He switches onto some heavy metal station he'd normally never listen to. He turns the dial to full and leans back into the driver's seat.

Jessie's crying harder now, and she begs him to talk to her but he won't listen to her. Her body is sagged in defeat.

Her tears and her pathetic whining only serve to annoy him.

He presses his foot down harder on the accelerator. He starts to turn the corners and the bends a little sharper.

She sits up straighter then and she turns to face him. Her face is a mask of alarm. The winding lanes are treacherous without him driving at such a high speed.

"Slow down."

He doesn't listen. He gives into the screaming radio and the racing speed of the car.

_C'mon, baby, c'mon, c'mon, darling,_

"Slow down!" she shrieks.

"Woo!" He laughs and he throws his head back like a mad man. He puts on a show. He wants to scare her. He wants to punish her.

"Please."

He turns to face her, sees the fear reflecting in her eyes, and he only chuckles.

"It's only a game, Jessie. My turn to have a little fun."

He turns the wheel sharply and abruptly.

_Let me steal this moment from you now._

He loses control.

"Look out!" Jessie screams from beside him. She's folding in on herself and he tightens his hands on the stirring wheel, trying to regain control.

He watches helplessly. The car hurtles toward the tree. He hears metal scrunching and wood snapping in his ears. The sound's so unpleasant; his eyesight flickers between blackness and then the shining glare of the orange street lamps.

He feels the unwelcoming flames of pain in the back of his skull. He's bleeding; he can taste it in his mouth.

He groans as he moves, he tries to ignore the agony caused by every single movement.

Jessie.

He turns his head slowly, biting down on his lip as more pain follows from the simple motion. She isn't sitting in the seat next to him. She wasn't wearing a seat belt. She never does, no matter how many times he asked her to.

The windshield is smashed and broken. The night air brushes against his skin. He's afraid to turn his head back towards the road.

_C'mon, angel, c'mon, c'mon, darling,_

No.

The word screams in warning from somewhere in the very back of his dazed and dizzied mind.

He sees her; she's laying face down and spread-eagled in the middle of the road. She isn't moving.

He climbs out of the car; his whole body is heavy and unsteady. But he stumbles forward. His loafers crunch against splinters of shattered glass.

_And if only I could,_

He staggers towards her on the leg he thinks is broken. Every step is awkward and sends pain erupting from his toes to his hip. But he ignores it and continues his unnatural, jerking movements.

He reaches her and he falls down to his knees. There's so much blood, the sight of it almost makes him sick. The redness gleams and stains against her pure white dress.

He turns her over, slowly and carefully. He cradles her gently in his arms and he brushes thick, damp curls from her sticky brow. Her green eyes are wide and fixed in a hollow mask of terror.

"Jessie." He finds his voice from somewhere deep and dark within him.

Her body is limp and she isn't breathing.

_Make a deal with God,_

_And get him to swap our places,_

He hears the sirens echoing from further down the road. He sees the flashes of red and blue lights and he turns his head towards the on-coming police cruisers and ambulances.

He holds her until the EMTs arrive and pry them apart. He watches as the black bag conceals her and she's taken away from him.

He cries and he reaches out into the darkness. He wishes that there were something more that he could do.

_If only I could be running up that hill,_

She was gone….

_If only I could_

That's what the sad-faced female EMT told him, and she sets a gentle hand on top of his shoulder. She steers him towards the ambulance, so they can assess his injuries and drive him to the hospital. His eyes stare into the darkness where Jessie had been.

* * *

Lucas moved along the twisting dirt paths in the depths of the forest. He followed closely along with the rest of the SWAT team. He hunched his shoulders forward slightly; he kept his eyes and mind as clear and focused as he could.

The morning's bright sun filtered down through the dense canopy of leaves. The wooded area was so quiet aside from the bird calls and the occasional rustle of moving woodland animals. With the redwood and fir trees, the North Carolina area looked both idyllic and threatening all at the same time. As a child, Lucas had loved to go camping with his uncle back in Virginia. There was something special and untouched about this land and if it wasn't for the thought that a murderer could be lurking beyond the shadows Lucas would have probably found time to appreciate the natural beauty of the forest.

But instead Lucas's footsteps were careful and purposeful while they continued on in their search. He kept a close eye on Gary Rice-Jones, the SWAT team commander, for instruction.

A quick check into the surrounding area had confirmed that the house was the only one for several miles. The house was situated in the middle of the harsher woodland terrain, and no one was around to notice anything out of the ordinary. No one would have been anywhere near to hear the screams and the struggle of Peyton Sawyer or any other victim. It was the ideal hideaway for the kidnapper, Lucas thought bleakly. And he needed to put an end to it now.

With a look down at the crunching leaves beneath his feet, he saw that he had discovered someone's tracks. The footsteps were small and the trail was patchy and broken; like someone was running for their lives. Lucas knew they had to be Peyton's tracks. He raised his hand along with a sideways glance to Captain Rice-Jones to indicate the imprinted route. The team followed along the way, stalking forward carefully.

Lucas's hand grazed at the gun holstered at his waist. With every step they took forward, he knew they were getting closer, to him. He froze in mid-step as he heard the wind chimes against the rustling breeze. The wind seemed to have picked up and chimes sounded particularly ominous given the circumstances. Lucas shivered involuntarily as he followed after the SWAT team's captain.

He saw the smoke first; the thick gray smog rose high into the cloudless skies.

"Mitch," he murmured in a low voice, his fingers indicating for the detective to follow his line of sight. They had found the house. They could see it through a clearing, white fronted and alight with flame.

"Oh, Jesus," Mitch muttered under his breath before he reached for the police radio; they needed to call in the fire department. They needed to contain the fire before it spread into the forest.

Lucas clenched his jaw tightly. It took all his will not to rush down to the building. They maintained a safe distance, watching as the fire licked its way up the building's structure.

Once again this man had escaped them. He'd left quickly, again one step ahead and this time he'd seen to it that he eradicated all evidence.

Peyton slowly opened her eyes and blinked her eyelids furiously against the unwelcomingly-bright light. She knew she was in the hospital; the nurse had told her she'd been taken to Johnston Memorial Hospital in Fayetteville. She could recognize that clinically-clean smell anywhere. The smell of disinfectant tingled at her nostrils and she moaned.

She hated hospitals; they only held memories for her that she'd much rather forget. She'd spent far too much time inside their walls. She'd tried so hard to block out being eight years old and sleeping at her mother's bedside. She hadn't set foot inside a medical facility until she'd rushed from her university campus to be at her father's bedside after getting the phone call that her father had been in an accident. Both times she had felt so scared and helpless.

Her lashes fluttered shut, attempting to block out fluorescent lights and the haunting memories. The next thing that occurred to her was that she hurt and ached all over. Her throat felt swollen and tender; it hurt every time she took a breath. She gingerly reached her hand up to her neck, remembering the way he'd held and crushed at her windpipe. The way his crystal eyes stared down at her, unfeeling and cruel.

_Ian._

The very thought of him made her entire body shudder. The whimper escaped her lips and tingled in her ears.

She'd stayed awake during the ambulance ride to the hospital. She'd been jittery as the kind-faced female EMT tried to talk to her and calm her down. She hadn't been able to calm down; Peyton's only thoughts had been of Lucas Scott and the police searching the woods and going after Ian. It had only been once she'd reached the hospital and she'd been asked to lie down, while the doctors and nurses tended to her, that she'd given into her pain and exhaustion.

"Peyton? Are you awake?"

She'd recognize that voice anywhere. She felt the glimmer of a smile tickle at her face. Her father's warm, calloused hand came to rest on top of her own. Larry's hands had always been rough because he'd spent so many years working on boats.

"Daddy," her voice came out as some sort of hollow rasp. She turned her head to see his concerned eyes and unshaven face.

"Shh, I'm here sweetheart." He squeezed her hand and tried not to let his gaze linger too long over the marks the kidnapper had left all over her pale skin. "I'm here."

"It hurts," she grumbled. Every movement she made caused a sensation of nausea to creep up her spine; the slightest of motions sent dizzying waves of pain through her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing deeply until the burning need to throw up slowly wore off.

"Do you need a doctor, baby?" Larry's first instinct as a parent was wanting to take his child's pain away.

Peyton heard the clicking sound of the wheelchair's brakes. She pushed her eyelids open again to see him beginning to pull away from her bedside.

"I can call one of the nurses?"

"No, Daddy," Peyton's fingers reached out to catch her father's hand. She tightened her grip to stop his fussing. He always fussed. "Just stay with me. Please."

"Of course, baby." He lifted her small hand with his larger one. He pressed a kiss to her sore, bruised knuckles. He hated the damned chair he was stuck in even more in that very moment. All he wanted to do was hold his little girl in his arms, to let her know she was safe, but he couldn't stand up to do it. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"Okay," she whispered softly. She rested her head back against the pillow and she squeezed his hand tightly. She wanted to cry; she wanted to release the tears of terror and relief that she'd been holding onto since she'd escaped the woods.

"I love you, kiddo," Larry told her while his rough hand smoothed back her hair. Peyton let her eyelids press shut and she fell to sleep.

* * *

The hospital corridors were blanketed in a state of semi-darkness as the sun set, marking the end of a very long day for Lucas. As visiting hours came to a close the wards became eerily quiet. They could be ominous, almost frightening at night, Lucas thought, remembering the only time he had spent any considerable time in one. A car accident with his uncle during his junior year of high school had left Lucas comatose and an operation meant he'd stayed in the hospital for the best part of two weeks. He hadn't been able to sleep at night; he'd stared into darkened corridors as the nurses patrolled every so often and he'd tossed and turned on paper-like sheets.

Lucas pushed the memory to the back of his mind, smiling at the officer stationed outside Peyton's room. For tonight, Agent Dan Matthews was on sentry duty. They couldn't afford to take any chances. The killer had escaped the woods but with his ritual stopped so abruptly Lucas hadn't put it past him to come back for Peyton. The invaluable witness had been the only one to see him and survive and the FBI had decided to put Peyton Sawyer under special protection.

Lucas murmured a 'good evening' to Dan who sat on the chair just outside of the patient's room. Dan Matthews was a good guy, one of the agents Lucas had worked closely alongside back in Los Angeles for many years. Dan was someone Lucas felt he could count on and trust.

"I'm going to grab another coffee," the man said, setting aside a motorcycle magazine before rising up stiffly from his chair. He dropped the two empty polystyrene cups into a nearby trash can. "You want one?"

"Sure," Lucas agreed quickly. It was going to be a long night back in his small motel room. He still had paperwork and a report to fill out before the morning. But he'd wanted to check on Peyton Sawyer before he did.

Dan shuffled off down the hall and Lucas turned his attentions toward the corner room. The doctors had placed her in the most secure room they could find, under the FBI's instruction. Peyton sat wide-awake and propped up by pillows. She sketched quietly; the room was silent, and the only sound came from the scratches of pencil against paper. Her eyes focused down on the shapes her deft hand crafted.

Lucas tapped lightly on the door-frame of Peyton's hospital room to get her attention. He watched as the girl's head jerked up at the sound of his voice. "Hey. Your dad said it was okay to visit with you, if you're up to it? Can I come in?"

"Sure, I guess." Peyton set her pencil down on the sketch pad and attempted a brave smile. She'd spent the day being examined by doctors and questioned by the police. It had been too many people she hadn't really wanted to speak too. She hadn't really wanted to see anyone other than her father, or this man. Lucas, the man with the kind blue eyes, had come to her rescue. He'd saved her life. She didn't think she would have made it out of the woods without him.

"Your dad went to get some dinner," he said gently, pulling one of the plastic chairs closer to the bed and sitting down.

"I'm sure he's gone to get a burger. Even though he's supposed to be watching his cholesterol," she joked lightly. Larry Sawyer hated hospital food about as much as she did herself. "But then my dad's never followed doctor's orders."

Lucas smiled; under the current circumstances fast food and ignoring diet plans sounded tempting. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." She'd slept for most of the day though she had woken up in fits and starts. She brought her hand to her temple. "My head's still a little sore. I'm still kinda out of it. He gave me something..."

Lucas nodded; he had read the medical report her doctors had supplied to the police. He'd given her a small shot of temazepam. The powerful sedative had some unpleasant side effects.

"Temazepam," he informed her. "It's pretty strong. You may feel a little out of sorts for a couple of days."

"The doctor said that." From what the doctors had told her, the tranquilizer Ian had given her might blur some of her memories of that day. But right now she didn't think that that was such a bad thing.

Peyton's fingers curled around the pencil again, her attentions falling back down to the pad. Lucas sat for a moment, watching her. Her pencil scratched while she lightly and absently shaded in the details of her portrait's eye. He didn't need to study the picture to know who she was drawing. The way her lips were curved and her eyes clouded over told him that.

"You like to draw?" he inquired, his index pointed towards the pad lying in her lap.

"Yeah, it helps me to think. To get things straight…."

Lucas offered a gentle smile.

"Did you catch him? Ian?" She was too tired and too afraid not to ask the burning question.

After spending so long trying to catch this faceless man it was both satisfying and strange for Lucas to finally have a name for him.

"No. We didn't." Lucas shook his head and watched all hope disappear from her green eyes. Peyton's gaze fell immediately onto her sketch pad, her curls falling in front of her face.

She wanted her nightmare to end and go away. The thought that he was still out there was something she didn't want to think about. This couldn't happen to anyone else, she thought and she lifted her head back up to look at Lucas.

"But you found the house, right?" She knew that the house was at least somewhere to start. Sherrie O'Neil had been kept there, maybe the other women too. If the police had found and secured the house it meant that Ian couldn't bring any more girls back there.

"He destroyed it," he told her regretfully.

"What?" Peyton pushed the single word out of her lips. "I don't…."

"He set fire to the house. By the time we got there he'd burned it down. Forensics are examining what's left…." Lucas explained and tried to sound proactive and positive. He was hoping there was something, some remaining clue or crucial piece of evidence that their man had left behind.

"The house is owned by someone named Mrs. Alice Richmond," Lucas continued on. "We're looking to find her right now. She may be a relation."

Peyton gripped her pencil so hard that it snapped in half. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe that Ian had escaped. Nor could she fathom that he had destroyed any hope of catching him.

"I'm sorry." He watched as Peyton's strength quickly faded away; she looked like she might cry.

"No, I'm sorry," she brought a hand up to dab at the corners of her eyes, to wipe away the threatening tears. "I just want this to be over."

"I know," he whispered. He watched as she straightened up in the bed. She struggled to regain her composure.

"It's okay to cry," Lucas said gently. He reached his hand to touch at her shoulder in a light, non-threatening gesture.

"No, I can't." She shook her head firmly. She'd tried so hard not to cry while Ian had her locked away in that room; she hadn't wanted to give him the satisfaction of breaking her.

"After what happened to you, it's really okay to cry."

Peyton really looked at him then. It was the compassion in his voice that struck a chord within her. Lucas didn't look or act like the police officers from around here. He didn't act like the police officials that he arrived on her doorstep following her mother's car accident.

"You're not a cop?"

His voice still held the traces of a deep Southern accent; it was deeper than her own. He'd either been away from this part of the country for a long while or he was trying to hide the drawl but she could pick it out when he said certain words. She'd gotten pretty good at it while working at Eddy's with all the customers the diner pulled in.

Her blurred mind did remember the FBI jacket; everything about the day seemed jumbled in her thoughts.

"I work with the FBI as a criminal profiler," Lucas explained. "I'm a behavioral analyst."

"Like a shrink?"

"No, not exactly," he said with a slight smile. People didn't always care to know that his career was to analyze every aspect of their behavior. In fact the very mention of behavioral analysis made some people very uncomfortable.

And it didn't take much guessing that, given her history, Peyton was more than a little wary of psychologists and therapists.

"I study human behavior; my job is to work up profiles on the people, the bad guys that we are chasing. We study their behavioral patterns and it helps us catch them."

"Does that work?" She couldn't keep the cynicism from her betraying voice.

"Yes, it does. We do catch them." Most of the time, he thought solemnly but he smiled as reassuringly as he could. He needed this young woman's faith and trust in order to catch this bad guy.

"I hope that's true," Peyton uttered quietly. With his kind, blue eyes and gentle tone of voice, she wanted to believe in him, even if she did not care for his science.

"Is that him?" Lucas indicated a finger to the sketch resting on her lap.

"Yeah."

"May I…?"

"Sure." With a quick rustle of pages she thrust the drawing into his outstretched hand.

Lucas stared down at the picture. The drawing was life-like, harrowingly so. If it wasn't for the menace that Peyton had managed to capture behind the man's eyes and his smile he would have simply been blown away by her talent.

"It's very…."

"Take it." She didn't give him time to finish his sentence. She didn't want to think about Ian anymore. She sketched to get over the pain she felt; she always had, and right now she was sketching to get the thoughts of darkness and demons out of her head.

"Thank you," Lucas told her honestly. They'd had a sketch artist sit with her during the latter part of the morning, but given that she was the only one of his victims to see him and escape, there was something invaluable about looking at Ian through the eyes of the victim.

"I don't want to think about him," she murmured quietly as she stared down at the now-blank pages of her book. She wished it was all just a nightmare that she'd never have to think about ever again. "I just want to forget it all, you know."

Lucas nodded lightly; he could understand that. If he'd been through what Peyton had, he would want to forget too.

"I should go, let you get some sleep." Lucas rose up from his seat and tucked the sketch into the file he carried.

"Ian knew all these things about me," Peyton said darkly, stopping him in his tracks. "The detectives earlier told me that Ian had probably watched me for weeks."

"We can do this later," Lucas reassured. Peyton looked far too fragile right now and he'd promised Larry that he wouldn't push her with any more questions that day. "You should get some rest, okay?"

"No," she chose to ignore his request. She didn't think that Ian would stop. He was still out there. "You said that you can catch him by studying his behavior?"

"Yes."

She met his eyes with a fixed and resolved glance. "Then I need to help. I don't want him to hurt anyone else."

"All right," Lucas said with a nod and a soft smile. "But if you need to stop, you say so, okay?"

"Okay." Peyton settled back against the hospital pillows and Lucas moved back to the plastic seat at her bedside.

"When he first came to Eddy's, he told me he liked art." She remembered how she had liked him. "I studied art back when I was back at college. It was nice, you know, having someone to talk to about art. I sketch behind the counter and he carried this book around with him. He said he drew. He seemed nice…."

Lucas's brow furrowed as he took in and absorbed the details. From the working profile he'd put together he knew that Ian would most likely get to know the women before he abducted them. Peyton had confirmed that; Ian had engaged in her interests, and he'd preyed upon her loneliness. He had tried to gain her trust before he struck.

She described how he'd followed her on her day off. How his behavior had changed dramatically toward her after she rejected him in the middle of the woods. She told him how Ian had known her favorite coffee drink. She skipped over the details of the attack in the diner and Lucas didn't say a word. He guessed it was too soon for her to relive the attack.

"He, um, he kept us in this room," her voice became all the more fragile. She kept her gaze focused on her hands. "It was in the basement. It was always dark in there and cold. It was like a prison cell, just a bed, a table, a toilet and a sink. He knew what beauty products I like."

"Wait a minute," Lucas sat bolt upright in the plastic chair. He wasn't sure if he'd heard that right. "Us?"

"What?" Peyton's eyes locked with his.

"You said _us_? Was someone else in the room with you?"

"No, I … I found a note." Peyton's gaze dropped back to her hands.

"What note?" Lucas wasn't altogether sure that he wanted to know her answer to his question; certainly not by judging the sadness and fear lingering in Peyton's voice.

"It was written by Sherrie O'Neil. He kept her in the room before me." She shivered at the memory of finding the letter hidden in the wall.

Lucas was quiet for a moment. It was as though all air had escaped his lungs after learning that Ian had kept Sherrie and then Peyton in the same cell. He wondered for a cold moment if Josie Turner and Alex Stevens had also been held in that room.

"Do you still have it?" he managed to choke out a moment later. "The note?"

Peyton nodded her head just once. She'd kept it. She was trying so hard to forget everything about the last six days. It had, quite literally, been the week from hell but she couldn't forget Sherrie or her words. She reached forward to the bedside drawer and pulled out the little plastic bag the nurse had given her.

"She wrote it for her husband," Peyton said in an uneven tone. "It was like a goodbye…."

Lucas reached forward to take the transparent package from her. His fingers traced the hospital's bag and his gaze lay fixed upon the sadly-acquired new evidence.

"What?" Peyton uttered in a frail whisper and Lucas's fingers tightened over the letter. The sadly-compassionate expression stretching across Lucas's face provoked those threatening tears back behind her eyes. She knew even before he'd answered her that she really wouldn't like the response. "Lucas? What is it?"

Lucas straightened up in his seat again and met her glance. He kept his expression fixed and solemn as he delivered the news. "Peyton, Sherrie O'Neil's body was found just outside Fayetteville. Ian drowned her."

"No." Peyton brought her hand up to cover her mouth. She had known it; of course she'd known it. From the minute she'd found the note, she had known Sherrie hadn't survived. She had known it in the depths of her soul as she read the words back at the house. And yet now the tears fell. Thick and fast.

"Peyton." He reached forward and tried to calm her.

"I can't..." Her voice broke while her body shook, and more tears came.

"Okay." He let his hand rest on top of hers. He tried to comfort her as best he could. "It's okay."

Peyton took a couple of moments, taking long, deep breaths to calm herself. It was all too much.

"Can we stop now?" Her voice was unsure and almost pleading.

"Yeah, of course," he said gently, keeping to his word. "We can stop. Get some sleep; we can do this tomorrow."

"Okay," Peyton lay back down. She hugged the paper-thin pillow in her hands in a desperate attempt for comfort. She really just wanted to sleep and forget now.

* * *

Five days after leaving Fayetteville, Ian sat patiently inside his new rental car in the center of Chapel Hill. Back at the scene of the crime, he joked. The college campus was one of his favored hunting grounds.

Campus security now patrolled the grounds. A procedure of extra vigilance had been incorporated into the lives of the students, professors and college personnel.

But it didn't seem to be enough. All it had taken was a change in vehicle and a new hair dye and it seemed like he could drive around like a new man.

He watched the large spots of water blot against the windshield creating a streaming pattern against the glass. The orange lamps illuminated the dark parking lot and the heavy rain splattered on the metal roof. The announcers on a local radio station talked on in the background about the weekend's latest events but he wasn't really listening.

He sipped at the cooling, sour-tasting coffee from a white paper cup. He was hunting, planning and calculating his next move. He always joked that this part was just like a police stakeout, only he was the smarter in the game. They were chasing him. Even though the police had the added assistance of the FBI they still hadn't been able to catch him. He'd slipped away between the cracks in Fayetteville.

But, he reasoned while he took a drag of his cigarette, he couldn't afford to be complacent. With his sketch now circulating the news he had to be extra vigilant. He was always careful; he watched and waited. He bided his time. He craved order, and with the police and FBI on his trail, he really couldn't afford any mistakes.

His ears prickled as the radio reeled off the very latest headlines and Ian felt the excitement buzzing in his body. He'd made the news again and that made him smile. That quelled his disappointment over losing Peyton. He'd lost her again, and he still missed Peyton, but being talked about and feared by these small little communities eased his irritation over the pesky Wilmington girl.

When the chirpy radio announcer turned to the sports section of the broadcast Ian turned his attentions to the newspapers lying on the passenger's seat. With the cigarette cradled tightly between his lips his hand retrieved the Chapel Hill News. He wore the ghost of a smile on his face while he worked quickly to cut out the morning's headlines. He turned the snippet upside down and rubbed the glue onto the back.

He pasted the article into his red scrapbook and ran a finger over the color picture that occupied the headline. It really wasn't her best photograph, he thought regretfully. He preferred her hair wild and curly, not scraped back like she wore it in the picture. And the dark circles and her haunted eyes told him she wasn't happy. He traced the tip of his index finger along her jawline. He missed his Peyton. He hadn't gotten over Peyton. Things had not gone according to his plan. She'd escaped him and he wasn't sure whether he felt anger or elation. He'd misjudged her; she'd been willful, clever and she'd gotten the better of him. That excited him. The thrill of the chase always did.

The echo of laughter and the stir of voices brought his eyes back to the rain-blotted windshield. He closed the book firmly shut and carefully placed it into the glove compartment.

He'd be back for Peyton Sawyer, he silently promised her that.

But right now he needed to focus on what was right in front of him. He took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing smoke into the car as he watched the group of girls walking down the university hospital steps. His eyes were intent upon the woman who broke away from the pack and wandered off towards the library.

He felt that flicker of anticipation; the games were beginning all over again.

On a Friday night, the medical student should have been partying and celebrating her youth. But Maxine Freeman, the sensible, dependable red-head with her low-rise jeans and confident stride, made straight for a tall building in the center of the campus. She was off to pull an all-nighter in the quiet, deserted library just like she did every weekend. He'd been visiting her long enough to know these details.

He'd watched and learned that she lived alone in a little run-down apartment block just off campus. He'd discovered that she worked weekends to put herself through medical school. She'd been orphaned at age five after her parents died in a house fire. He knew that the girl who asked her patients to call her 'Dr. Max' on her hospital rounds wanted one day to become a leading neurosurgeon.

Ian fired up the engine and rolled down the window. He flicked the cigarette butt onto the soggy ground before driving slowly forward.

"Excuse me." He pulled his car alongside the unsuspecting woman. Dr. Max turned around. One look into her deep hazel eyes and Ian didn't miss Peyton Sawyer quite as much.

"Yes?" she asked, her forehead crumpling in curiosity.

"I was wondering if you could tell me how to get to the interstate?"

"Sure," the student doctor said. Maxine had always tried to be polite and helpful. She adjusted her backpack as she moved toward his car and bent forwards to speak to the driver.

She saw his eyes first; they were dark and gleaming. One look at the man behind the wheel and she froze. She knew who he was. She'd read about him and heard the headlines every morning.

Ian didn't say a thing. He didn't wait a second. He lunged forward and grabbed her by the lapels of her denim jacket. She did struggle, she screamed and she clawed wildly at him while he dragged her off the street. He heard the thud as her head smacked against the car's door frame. She sagged for a moment, dazed and shocked, and he used the opportunity to pull her completely inside.

He turned his attentions back to the lot. He'd gotten lucky and Dr. Max hadn't attracted anyone with the disturbance. But he still needed to get out of here quickly. The campus had tightened up its security and he didn't want to be here any longer than necessary. He reached back to the glove compartment for his little medical kit.

"Don't," she murmured; her eyes were still unfocused from the blow to her head. She needed to move and act but dizziness and nausea seemed to govern her body. She watched in horror as he readied a syringe.

"You don't look too well, doc," Ian said, pulling the sleeves of her jacket and shirt up and exposing the vulnerable, pale skin of her arm.

"No, please," Maxine tried to recoil her arm away from him. Every movement she made seemed labored and sluggish even though she knew urgency was very much essential in her bid to get away.

"Shh, you just need to rest," he whispered. He held her tightly and he pumped the sedative into the limb. "Everything always looks so much better after a good night's rest."

Ian watched as the light went off behind her big hazel eyes. She slumped back in the passenger's seat.

"That's better." Ian lit up another cigarette and inhaled with a satisfied grin. He fired up the engine again and chanced a glance out at the college grounds. He wondered for a moment of brazen alarm if the struggle had caused any unwanted attention. It hadn't. The parking lot remained rain-splattered and empty.

He eased the car back along the roads and cranked on the stereo. He had one last visit to make that night.

* * *

The very next morning, Peyton dozed softly in and out of her dream-world. She was vaguely aware of the morning's pink rays filtering in through the blinds. She felt the warm, velvety fur of Dusky's coat beneath her fingertips as her precious dog lay slumbering beside her. She hadn't been sleeping well ever since her rescue six days ago; her dreams always gave way to him, even now that she was back in her own hometown and her own bed. She'd wake up to murmured screams and cold sweats before lying restlessly and staring alertly at the darkened window.

Peyton nuzzled into her pillow, her head still bleary and half way between sleep and consciousness. Her lids were heavy and begging for more rest. She didn't try to fight it. She pressed them shut, drifting back into the haziness of her dreams. She saw his pale, mottled face and his gleaming eyes staring at her. Ian was looking in at her through the window this time. His face curved into a murderous grin.

She opened her eyes fully, catching a strangled scream in the palm of her hand. She sat up so abruptly that Dusky stirred and moved up onto her haunches.

Peyton turned her head quickly to take in her surroundings. Nothing had changed. Her windows were shut and locked tight. The deadbolt was still locked on her bedroom door to stop anyone from coming in. There was no dark figure looming beside her closet. She was completely safe and alone in her childhood room.

A fragile breath passed between her lips. There was no one there; no Ian hiding and waiting in the closet, biding his time before he struck again. She blinked her damp lashes and hugged the comforter to her chest. She lived through quick, snapping moments of irrational, overwhelming panic to chastising herself for being paranoid and jumpy. She hated it; she'd survived something terrible and wanted to go back to normal, but safe and normal felt so far away and so very unobtainable right now.

"Morning, girl," Peyton turned her attentions onto the faithful animal nuzzling at her hand and she ruffled the golden fur on the top of Dusky's head. The German Shepherd's gentle whines prompted Peyton to begin her day, a day full of routine and the attempt to make it from one moment to the next.

"You hungry, huh?" She threw off the covers and reached for the fluffy white robe hanging at the back of her door. She shrugged the garment over her arms and tried to ignore the urge to look over her shoulder before she left the room.

"Come on, let's get you some breakfast," she said in a sleepily-hoarse voice and patted her dog lightly on the hind leg.

Dusky followed closely at Peyton's side as they padded down the hallway and to the stairs. Before she made it down to the bottom of the staircase, she saw that she had company. Lucas sat on the couch, his back towards her, with blankets cast aside and bunched up. He rubbed at his stiff neck, and she knew he'd slept there. Peyton also knew from experience that their couch wasn't the most comfortable.

She saw his gun in its holster, sitting there on the coffee table. She hated guns; she always had. And yet she seemed to be surrounded by them now she was under constant FBI protection. Guns frightened her because life could be extinguished in such a quick flash. She hadn't grown up around them; her father had raised her to value life. When she'd lived with Greg he had kept a gun; he was from Brooklyn and was still keen on home security. She remembered her professor and sometime boyfriend telling her it wasn't the gun that was to be feared, but more the intent behind it. He reasoned that the danger came from the person who held the weapon. She hadn't necessarily believed him, but as the sight of the object now made her feel strangely more at ease she supposed maybe there was some truth in it. She brushed the dark thought aside.

"Good morning," she greeted him in a small, hesitant voice once she'd crossed into her den and caused him to turn his head and look over at her.

"Peyton." Lucas stammered as he was alerted to her presence. "Good morning, I didn't hear you," He stood up and moved to face her. He realized he hadn't heard or noticed her moving through the house, and he should have been paying more attention.

"Everything okay?" she asked idly. It surprised Peyton a little to see him on her couch. She'd grown used to the squad cars parked around her home over the past few days. The officers and agents would patrol around the house while keeping her safe. She'd offer coffee and snacks sometimes and they'd sit in the kitchen for awhile but once night fell the men and women would disappear into their police cruisers and watch and wait until morning.

"Yes, everything's fine." It wasn't really; he wasn't exactly following protocol as he slept over at the latest victim's home last night. His supervisor, William Spencer, would probably have him thrown off the case for visiting with Larry Sawyer when Peyton was still missing and now sleeping in the Sawyers' home when officially off-duty.

Peyton smiled weakly before her hands moved to pull her robe closer to her frame.

"I'm sorry. I meant to be gone before you woke up," he uttered, suddenly feeling the need to excuse his being there as he watched Peyton self-consciously tightening her robe around her body, hiding her bruises and her sleepwear completely from his sight. She tied the satin belt around her waist and he whispered his apology again.

"It's fine," she said hiding her shyness and her shame. She liked Lucas; he'd saved her in her bid to escape Ian. She was sorry for the other day when she'd broken down. Lucas had been good to her. She trusted him more than any other policeman on her case.

"Your dad and I got to talking," he continued on to excuse his presence in her house. "It was late and he offered me the couch."

"It's fine, really..." Her uneasiness within the shell of her skin had nothing to do with Lucas at all. She knew that her father had become good friends with Lucas Scott. Her father had told her how Lucas had visited while she was still missing. And it occurred to her that having him in her home made her feel more at ease. "You and my dad were talking?" she asked as an afterthought.

"Literature," Lucas explained with a bob of his head and a tiny smile.

Peyton nodded her head and offered a small laugh. She liked that her dad was talking and bonding with this man. It had been a long time since he made any sort of an effort with anyone.

"Well, it's really nice that he can talk about dead writers with someone," she joked. "I was always more into music and art so..." Like her mom had been when she was still alive. Peyton realized she'd become more introspective recently. Her father had always said how she'd taken after her mother in so many ways. And she'd been thinking more about her mother lately.

"He certainly likes his gothic fiction," Lucas said lightly and earned a smile from her.

"Yeah, I remember him reading The Telltale Heart to me when I was five... Let's just say it was kind of lost on me back then."

Lucas offered another grin before he busied himself with fastening his tie around his collar.

"Would you like some coffee? Or some breakfast?" Peyton offered after Dusky nudged her snout against her leg reminding her it was time to eat.

"No, that's okay," Lucas turned back toward the couch, gathering up his jacket that was laid over its arm. "I should probably get to the station."

"Come on." The big dark circles beneath his eyes told her he could definitely use a shot of caffeine. "Even an FBI agent can spare some time to have a coffee? And that couch doesn't give the best night's sleep so I know that you could use it."

Lucas conceded with a smile, "I guess I have a few spare minutes."

"That's what I thought." She smiled with a hint of satisfaction. "I'll make some coffee."

She turned on her heel and but led the way to the kitchen, leaving Lucas to follow. She moved to the cupboard and pulled out the bag of Dusky's food before she stooped over the dog's bowl by the back door and tipped in the feed. Peyton left a content Dusky eating her breakfast, before she busied herself with pouring the coffee grinds into the filter.

She heard the footsteps tapping on the tiled kitchen floor, and even though she knew it was Lucas she still felt that stab of irrational fear at the back of her mind. She pushed the thought away and turned around to see Lucas now fully dressed in his work suit and she smiled sheepishly.

"They even have you working on a Saturday, huh?" Peyton attempted small talk.

"Comes with the territory," Lucas replied with a little grin. "Weekends are kind of a forgotten luxury."

Peyton returned the smile before she busied herself with making the coffee. She flicked the maker on and listened as it stirred and spluttered to life.

"So, how are you feeling?" Lucas inquired gently. They hadn't really spoken since that day in the hospital. Mitch had questioned Peyton further regarding her abduction.

"I'm okay," Peyton said with a slight shrug of her shoulders. Whenever anyone asked her that overused question she told everyone she was fine, that she was coping. She'd survived, she was lucky in that way. Sherrie O'Neil hadn't been so lucky.

"You sure?" He was looking at her like he wasn't convinced.

She merely nodded this time. Most people would ask the question and then move on to a more neutral topic, not knowing what else to say to her. But then she knew his whole job revolved around reading people. She was probably giving him a thousand signals that she wasn't coping that well but she tried to fool him, and herself, that she had it all under control.

"Bagel?" she suggested, wanting to change the subject. She set two bagels down on the chopping board before he'd even had a chance to answer.

"Sure." Lucas watched silently as she moved to cut up a bagel for him. Her hand was just slightly unsteady before she'd sliced it. She set down the knife and offered a choice curse under her breath.

He mercifully took over her task; she looked back at him and sighed. There was no fooling him.

"It's just hard. I don't know... I keep seeing him." She felt like she was going crazy. She couldn't blow-dry her hair without turning off the dryer every few seconds and straining her ears to catch the sounds that weren't there. She couldn't go to sleep at night without checking the windows were locked and her closet was empty. She felt foolish, like a little child frightened of the monsters that lurked beyond the shadows.

"That isn't uncommon," he offered gently, watching as Peyton hugged her arms to her body.

"Yeah?" she questioned with the hint of cynicism raising itself. If that was true then why did she feel like every single thing in her life was spinning out of control?

"Peyton, what you're feeling," Lucas said sadly, "it's common amongst victims."

"You see this kind of thing a lot, huh?" She knew what his job was, trying to understand how a killer's mind worked. She didn't know how he could do that job he did or how he dealt with what he saw.

"Unfortunately, I do," he told her honestly.

His blue eyes held such sadness behind them. He really wasn't like the police she'd met in her town. He wasn't like the ones that had come into Eddy's after a late shift, grumpy and seemingly uninspired by their jobs. Lucas, from everything she'd seen and heard from her father, cared about people. He'd visited the house when she was missing and he didn't have to do that. He didn't have to be here, now, talking with her now but he was.

Peyton didn't say anything. She plucked two thick ceramic coffee mugs from the cupboard and poured them both a hot, steaming drink. He cradled the mug in both hands while she mixed cream and sugar into her own.

"Maybe you could try talking to someone?" he tried to offer that option as delicately as he could. As part of his job, and after everything he'd seen, that was what was always suggested and recommended. But not everyone was so inclined to open up right away.

"Maybe … I don't know." She looked down at the pale tiles beneath her bare feet. "I'm not good at talking…. When my mom died, I went to a counselor for a little bit. The school made me. But it, um, it didn't really work out."

She didn't trust people, certainly not enough to let them in. She knew it. And talking to a complete stranger, who knew nothing about her, seemed impossible.

"It might help to talk about what happened to you," he told her gently.

"I guess..." She stared down at the dark beverage she held in her hands. She could feel Lucas's gaze on her and she lifted her head. She needed to say it. And saying it to kind Lucas who rescued her and understood her seemed easier than saying it to anyone else. "It's just; I mean I'm lucky, right? Sherrie O'Neil wasn't so lucky."

Lucas saw the tears glistening in her lovely green eyes, "Peyton…."

"I shared the same room as her." Her voice was so fragile and frightened. She could still remember the note and the nail marks on the bed's headboard.

"Peyton, what happened to Sherrie O'Neil wasn't your fault." The idea that this girl would feel somewhat responsible from one man's sick, cruel actions made him more than a little nauseous. "None of this is your fault."

"I know," she lowered her eyes to the rim of the ceramic cup. It wasn't her fault, it was Ian's. She knew that. She couldn't really explain why she felt the hint of guilt and accountability she did whenever she thought of Mr. O'Neil and the children growing up without their mother. Maybe it was because she knew what it was like to be left behind.

"It's going to take time, Peyton," he assured and encouraged lightly. She'd tilted her head, letting her thick, blonde locks hide her face from him.

She nodded, trying to believe his words; trying to believe that one day she'd feel comfortable in her own life and her own skin again. "Yeah," she whispered. "I know."

"You've been through a lot," he reminded her. "But you have your father who loves you; people who care about you."

Peyton lifted her head; her fingertips wiped the stray tears from her lashes.

"It will get easier." He rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She was a survivor; the fact that she'd escaped Ian's clutches told him that much. She was strong enough to get past this even if she didn't believe it right now.

She nodded her head and attempted a sure smile as she finally looked him in the eye. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her want to believe in his words.

"Things will get better." He squeezed her shoulder gently. He silently promised himself once again that he'd catch the man so that Peyton, and so many others, wouldn't have to live in fear.

"I hope so." She hated being like this, living through her life being scared of even the smallest shadow or jumping at an unexpected sound.

Dusky barked, turning both Peyton's and Lucas's attentions towards her. The dog was on all fours, standing firm and alert.

"Dusky!" Peyton called out at the animal but the dog continued to bark.

"It's probably just the neighbor's cat," Peyton explained. She moved to pluck the keys off the rack and then she made toward the back door.

"Let me," Lucas requested. There was something about the sudden change in the dog's usually-placid temperament that made him think it wasn't the next door's cat that had her teeth bared and every muscle in her body poised. "Stay here and don't move."

Peyton nodded wordlessly and placed the keys into his palm. Only one person had managed to get her dog this agitated in months. She didn't want to open the door to find Ian on the other side of it. She tried to ignore the trembling in her whole body while she watched Lucas move slowly to the back door.

She saw his hand creep to the gun holster he wore at his waist. He was thinking the exact thing she was. Only he was calm and vigilant. And she was scared.

Lucas opened the door and peered out from it. The backyard was quiet in the morning's glow. He checked his corners, with the gun poised and ready. He couldn't see anyone.

He looked down to the object at his feet.

"Lucas?" Peyton moved to the back door to find Lucas standing, staring out at her garden. Her brow furrowed at the sight of the long, black gift box. She wasn't entirely sure it was just her imagination that the air tickled against her skin and seemed to be several degrees colder.

"Stay inside and out of sight," he urged her. Peyton backed away from the door watching while Lucas moved through into the den, his gun still cradled in the palm of his hand. He checked the windows and doors; he twitched the drapes and peered into the quiet street. He could see the squad cars parked outside but there was no sign of anyone else.

Peyton watched quietly while Lucas moved back into the kitchen, toward the bag he'd left on the breakfast table the night before. He unzipped it and pulled out his forensics equipment. He pulled on the standard white plastic gloves she remembered seeing in detective shows.

"Is he out there?" she whispered fearfully.

Lucas shook his head and walked back to the back porch. He bent down to examine the box. From his years of service with the Bureau he knew to check that the object wasn't a concealed threat before he touched it or moved it. He couldn't underestimate the anger the killer felt after Peyton escaped him.

"What is it?" Peyton asked when Lucas finally ventured back into her home with the large package in his hands.

"I don't know." He set it down on the counter. Peyton followed to stand beside him. It was for her. The tiny white envelope attached to it was addressed to her. Her name was printed so boldly and carefully on the envelope, and Lucas knew immediately who it was from.

Peyton found herself reaching for the envelope; curiosity got the better of her.

"Don't touch it," Lucas instructed, reaching out with his own hand to stop her from opening it. Peyton stepped away immediately.

"It's from him, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think it is."

He moved forward and carefully lifted the envelope but nothing was inside but a blank greeting card. He dropped the blank stationery into a plastic evidence bag anyway.

Peyton's heart hammered in her chest as Lucas finally opened the lid. The tears welled behind her eyes, threatening to spill and they blurred her vision. She blinked her lashes; she wanted to see what was inside even though the better part of her screamed that she probably was better off not knowing.

Twelve long-stemmed red roses lay inside. They were wrapped in a black ribbon with a little piece of paper nestled in the middle of the flowers.

_Soon._

The four letters gleamed boldly and Peyton raised her hand to cover her mouth. She stifled the scream that welled up in her throat.

Lucas set the lid back on top of the box. She'd didn't need to see this. She was shaking so hard, and perhaps against his better judgment, he reached out to hold her. She clung to him, her body trembling, and she buried her face in the fabric of his jacket.

"It's okay," Lucas uttered, knowing full well it wasn't. Ian continuing to threaten her even after she'd escaped him concerned him greatly. He knew it must be just terrifying for her.

"He's going to keep coming after me, isn't he?" She couldn't stop the realization slipping through her lips. She had tried so hard to control her fears; and had tried to keep the tears from betraying her voice.

"And I'm going to catch him."

"I hope so." She felt Lucas's reassuring squeeze at her shoulders, strong and protective. She wanted to believe him. He seemed to be a man of his word. He'd do everything he could to catch Ian.

"I need to call this in," Lucas told her gently. There was a chance Ian could still be in the area and he needed to get the police out there.

Peyton pulled away and offered him a weak smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. Lucas calmed her and reassured her better than she did herself these days.

"Of course." She took a couple of steps back. He needed to do his job and the best thing she could do right now was let him.

"Why don't you go wake up your dad?"

"Yes, okay." She disappeared from the kitchen with Dusky following closely at her heels.

Lucas moved cautiously to the windows and peeked through the slivers of the blinds. He didn't think that Ian would be as bold so to stalk outside Peyton Sawyer's home when she was under police protection. But then he wouldn't put anything past this killer. And he wasn't taking any chances.


End file.
